Economics
by VO1
Summary: Totally AU. MinaxKunz. Sometimes art doesn't pay the bills. Sometimes something else does. Sometimes this causes problems in the most solid of relationships. Welcome to adulthood. All characters will appear except Ami b/c she is getting her own story!
1. Chapter 1: Second of the Month

Hello

_Hello! _

_This started out as original fiction, but I couldn't get a good grasp on the characters, so I borrowed them. Totally AU and something a bit different from me. _

_Also, I know absolutely fuck-all about the art world, how it works, the terminology used, etc., so I had to look everything up, so if something's "off", please let me know. I wiki'd everything, and should stick to what I know, but it was essential to the plot. I also wrote a story about poker, and I know nothing about poker, other than I'm terrible and lose money._

_Please review or send C&C to __. _

_Thanks and enjoy._

If it hadn't been the second of the month, she would have refused.

She had called it an early night after half a bottle of pinot noir and a full hour of yoga had failed to produce anything more than dusty black scribbling, and once the accidental thumbprint appeared on the eye, smudging it enough to eradicate a full afternoon's worth of holding a hand mirror two inches away from her face and trying to copy the moist tissues and curves of the organ, Mina chucked everything to the floor and headed for the shower.

One week before this commission was due, and she was still farting around on the eye. The EYE. _Victory_ still hung in its same spot at the gallery, earning exactly zero dollars for all the accolades that it had garnered, and she was trying to scrape together enough money to keep her landlord and roommate happy by commissioning a charcoal portrait of some guy's ugly pug dog with human eyes. Those had been his exact specifications. Human eyes. Ordinarily she would have shoveled together something barely passing, because who, really, could be an impartial art critic for a piece as crazy as this one? But this client, weirdness aside, had a new house, big plans, and terrible taste, and lived alone with his beloved bug-faced dog whose image was about to be enhanced with non-canine eyes. All those empty rooms could always use more ugly pieces. He could keep her crumbly roof over her head and food and cheap liquor in her stomach for another few months if she kept him happy with freaky six-foot Dr. Moreau sketches.

Rent was due tomorrow. The same sentence had been beating in her head all day, and she knew exactly how much money she didn't have, and asking Jason or Raye was out of the question, since they had covered her last month, well, Raye had covered her for the last month. Jason had been covering her for her entire life, dutifully forking his baseball card money over because she had spilled her kindergartener sized milk at recess and was crying under the monkey bars like a little wiener. It was nice to have a brother that cared more about your five year old well-being than the chance of scoring a Manny Ramirez rookie card.

Until, of course, he grew up, started playing the guitar, lifting weights, and began sleeping with your friends.

However, she knew exactly how much Jason didn't have, after the incident a few months back involving public intoxication, nudity, and a hefty amount of borrowed bail money; something Raye was still furious over. She didn't dare mention money to either of them for a while.

Asking her parents was out, also, since it was her financial straits that caused her to boomerang out of their house for the second time, move in with her brother and his girlfriend, and crashing in the spare bedroom, which was actually quite spacious and grand except for that gaping hole in the corner of the ceiling that birds would occasionally fly into. She had solved that problem by adopting a shelter cat, a white critter with black eyes that would tear apart any stray pigeon before it had a chance to wreck its way through her work space. Of course, a few times she had come home to a pile of feathers and various…parts, but once, she had made lemonade out of those particular lemons, and sold the pigeon-blood spattered canvas to a pretentious couple whose theme for their home recording studio was "war".

Her phone beeped just as she was drying off her hair, and she answered it while toweling off. Her answer to the proposition was instant.

"No. And how do you know I need it?"

"Because it's the second of the month, Raye won't lend you money, and I was the only buyer at your last showing. By the way, that thing still gives me nightmares. I stuck it in the guest bathroom so that I can unnerve my in-laws with it while they sit on the toilet."

Mina rolled her eyes. "I was going through a surrealist period. That piece is refreshingly shocking."

"It's refreshingly shitty. The only thing that beats it is that disgusting pigeon-blood thing you sold to those delusional yuppie hipsters. But it was a choice between that and the two hundred pound sculpture of…an airplane, I think, and I just didn't feel like making my poor driver load that thing in the trunk."

"I'm still not doing it. And _Airship in Flight_ is a sculpture of a bathtub."

"Whatever. It didn't make it less heavy. Two grand. It's his birthday."

Two grand. "Can't you just buy a bottle of scotch like normal people?"

"I did that last year. It's been done. It's done. I have to go big, Mina, he just moved into town, and I got him the suite at the Helix and promised to make up for the shitty birthday he had last year."

"What happened last year?"

"I threw up in his new car. And his kitchen floor. And the crisper drawer of the refrigerator."

"Sexy."

"I told him I don't do shots of Patron well. And I'm pretty sure that some stripper stole his wallet. And I'm pretty sure that the stripper was of the female gender, but I can't guarantee anything of the sort. So anyway, will you do it tonight?"

Two grand. "What time?"

"An hour."

She stopped drying her hair and let the towel slip to the ground. "Five."

"Three if you can be ready in an hour. You don't even have to stay all night."

"Or I could just ask you for a loan."

The caller laughed softly. "Except that you would never take it. You didn't take your ex-fiancée's money, either, and now you're a starving artist that lives with her brother and does expensive favors for old friends."

"You make me feel really good, Darien. I'm glad you call just to cheer me up."

Another laugh. "A car will be downstairs in an hour. Tell him I said happy birthday."

She tossed the phone onto her bed and pulled open a drawer on her battered dresser. When her art didn't pay the bills…

Three. Grand.

**********************************************************************************

He didn't know what Darien was thinking, but after a five-day trip to four different countries, some with questionable plumbing, Kevin didn't care where he slept minus a jail cell or bus stop, as long as he had the chance to be horizontal for awhile and not care how close his shave was. His contacts were pretty much welded to his eyeballs at this point, and every blink felt like a belt sander to the corneas.

The suite at the Helix would be home, temporarily, until he found somewhere suitable. Darien wrongly presumed that he needed the same comforts that he did, like marble fountains and sixty-four inch plasmas above the bathtub and self-heating toilet seats and such. This suite was ridiculous, from the leather barstools and circular king bed and chrome and glass shelving and fantastically ugly artwork, but the worst part was the pole. A brass pole, affixed square in the middle of a round table and bolted in the ceiling and floor. The table was high, chest-height, and the tabletop was mirrored. There was no mistaking what this was for.

_Jesus, Darien._ Guy just couldn't send a card.

He barely had time to squirt a few drops of Visine into his aching eyes when there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" His voice came out filled with rasp and phlegm; he hadn't needed to use it in hours. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Who is it?"

"Darien sent me."

Her voice was light, sexy. However, he had been fooled before when his friends had thought it hilarious to send him a transvestite stripper last year, a very convincing transvestite when enough liquor had been consumed…

But holy chicken tits was he tired. _Screw this, I'm going to bed. Happy birthday, me._

He yanked the door open while digging for some cash in his pocket, intending to politely send the lady on her way with a little something for the inconvenience of having come all this way, but the first thing he saw when he opened the door were her eyes: big, blue, wide eyes framed by dark lashes, and he forgot all about sleeping, and scraping the soft contacts out of his eyes with his toothbrush handle, and the past crappy birthday with the scorned stripper screaming and hitting him with his/her faux designer handbag while Darien vomited fois gras and tequila on the passenger side of his new Boxster, and all his mind went back to the brass pole.

_Happy birthday, me. _

She was only a few inches shorter then him in her stiletto heels, which, thankfully, were not the standard clear platforms of the more economical type of working women that would visit at this hour. Her hair hung loose in soft waves around her face, a very light yellow blonde that reached all the way to the root, with bangs that were cropped in an asymmetrical line across her high forehead. The bone structure of her face highlighted her lips, brightened with gloss and screaming of sex so loudly it drowned out almost everything else, including something she said that he totally missed.

"What?" _Brilliant, you dumb shit. _

She adorably cocked her head. "I said, 'Are you going to let me in'?"

Kevin gathered his bearings and stepped aside. "Yeah." Again, with the one word…

The blonde gave the room an once-over, and he wasn't entirely sure if she was impressed or disgusted. Naturally, someone in her profession must have seen hundreds of suites, paid for by men even wealthier than he or Darien; this place must look like a Motel 6 with cigarette burns in the rug by comparison.

She pulled a small white envelope out of the pocket of her short trench. "From Darien."

"Thank you. Would you like a drink?"

"Sure. Vodka tonic, please."

He busied himself behind the bar while the girl, this breathtaking girl, toyed with the belt on her trench coat and inspected the suite, stopping to examine one of the hideous art deco paintings of something that looked like black squiggly lines in a mirrored frame. Kevin felt like he was supposed to say something impressively clever that would show him in a favorable light and therefore become more attractive in the woman's eyes.

"Like the painting?" was what he came up with.

She didn't look away as she responded. "A Feinholtz. I had class with her."

"Really? What, uh, school was that?"

The blonde stopped staring and the painting and joined him at the bar. "The Academy. I graduated last year; got my degree in fine arts."

"You're an artist."

"You're surprised." She was smiling at him, her heavily-lined eyes shining through the layers of kohl. "You're probably wondering what an Academy alumni is doing here in the middle of the night doing…this."

"Uh," he stammered, all of his normally second-nature charm gone out the window with the hint of what was underneath her coat.

"It's _Victory_," she said, taking a long swallow. "My _piece de resistance_. Won a ton of awards, got me noticed in very well-connected circles, made my friends happy and my parents proud, and it's still sitting in a gallery waiting for a buyer. A rich buyer, actually, since I had to raise its value for all the acclaim it won. And you know why?"

"Why?"

She grinned again, this time so broadly that it reached all the way up to her eyes. "Because it's too big to fit in a standard door. You can't take it home if you can't get it in there. My fault, completely. I created it in a warehouse studio."

He laughed. "I would like to see this, uh, art."

"You can. Dreyfuss and Drake Gallery, on 8th. You can't miss it, they replaced the windows with mirrors that face the street. It's hideous and caused a couple of car accidents already."

Kevin looked at her closely. "What's your name?"

Her smile hardened a little underneath the perfect makeup. "Mi-Mina."

"Mimina?"

"No!" She smiled again, recovering. "I stuttered. I was going to give you a fake name, but I couldn't think of one fast enough."

"You don't do this very often."

"Um, no, actually." She tossed back the rest of her drink. "Only when I don't sell anything that month, and Darien helps me out."

"How do you know Darien?"

"Really old friend." Mina opened her purse and pulled an iPod out, and started setting it up in the audio system. "I used to be in this dance troupe, in college, and we would do a burlesque show. Yes, I know how that sounds, but we had a lot of fun and even got noticed for a short time. Darien was a, uh, _enthusiastic_ repeat customer. At first I thought he was just a pervy creep, and believe me, we got a lot of those, but then he introduced himself as an agent, and this is when he was just starting out, and he really helped the careers of some of the other girls. Now he's super-agent and one of my best clients." She reddened suddenly. "For art, I mean. Not for, you know."

"Of course."

"He knows I don't mind taking out the fishnets once in a while. Although tonight, I'm not wearing any fishnets."

"No," Kevin started to flush with a welcome heat.

"Sorry, now you know my life story. What's yours?" She pressed on the click wheel, and Dusty Springfield started cooing about crazy, spooky love.

Kevin watched her as she delicately stepped onto the mirrored table and gave an experimental swing around the pole, and immediately forgot the question. "It's my birthday."

"Yes, I know." One hand reached up and pulled out the knot of her belt. "That's why I'm here. Why don't you have a seat—"

"Kevin."

"Kevin." The first buttons of the coat came undone.

************************************************************************************

She stayed for less than an hour, was never fully undressed, and spoke less than fifty words after asking his name. Despite those facts, or perhaps because of them, Kevin was now completely, utterly, and fatally consumed with the girl who was an artist first, her body the medium of the piece.

At one point, in a lull in the playlist, she had stretched out a hand to touch his hair, giving him a great view of her breasts stretching against the black lace, almost, _almost_ breaking free, and commented flatly that she would love to sketch his portrait. Most likely he had agreed, which he would have to any request she would have made with him in that state.

He watched her walk down the hallway to the private elevator, her hair swinging against her shoulders in blonde waves, the backs of her thighs practically edible under the hem of her coat, and he had almost, _almost_ called out to her, to ask her if he could see her again, or call her, or anything, really. She had turned when the door opened, and flashed one last smile, tired and genuine, and curled one hand into a farewell wave. The doors closed, and she was gone.

The bar was his first destination; he mildly entertained drinking straight from the bottle until remembering that small breaks in decorum in private would only lead to larger ones in public, so he found her empty glass and poured himself a double. He had resigned to spending the night drinking himself into a birthday coma before inspiration struck with a ball peen hammer.

She was friends with Darien. Darien undoubtedly had some way of contacting her that was quick and convenient. Darien could tell Kevin about her, give him some clue into what would tickle her ivories, what she was like, what made her laugh, where she lived and who her friends were, what she looked for in a man. Darien was the gatekeeper to all carnal wisdom; benevolent and merciful, and willing to share that wisdom to a besotted fool who was practically chugging scotch at this point on an empty stomach and whose contact lenses had established themselves as permanent fixtures of his ocular anatomy. Darien was the key, the crux, the alpha and the omega, the possessor of seven numerals that Kevin coveted more than anything right now.

Darien wasn't answering his fucking phone.

The first part of his voicemail picked up Kevin's inarticulate swearing before he hung up in frustration. He dialed his sister next as he paced the room, and swore again when her chirpy voice instructed him to leave a message. This time, he bitched out the automated female voice that told him, in a very condescending manner, to press one now, or just wait for the tone, or to leave a call back number by pressing five, insulting her and her parents and whatever shithead had hired her and wrote her script thought it a great idea to include her at the end of every message.

So, without any other avenues, it was just he and the alcohol. And Ms. Right Palm and her five friends, most likely, followed by passing out with his contacts still in his eyes and perhaps puking up scotch stew early tomorrow morning, and finally chugging a twenty-ounce Gatorade and swallowing a handful of ibuprofen before sleeping the rest of the day away.

The ball peen hammer of inspiration whammed him over the head again. An idea formed into a plan, maybe ridiculous, but the best plans always were, anyway.

**************************************************************************************

Raye loved Sunday.

Sunday morning was her time; Jason was still asleep, smelling of last night's cigarette smoke and sometimes with last night's clothes on. Mina would be dicking around in her room for the good part of the day, emerging only at choice periods between bouts of inspiration in her underwear and paint smudges up her arms to retrieve some coffee and whatever leftovers that were hanging around uneaten. Sunday morning was just her, her Brown Alumni mug full of coffee, the Times, and uninterrupted hours before Sunday night. Sunday nights found her sitting on the couch, watching _Dateline_ or some other crap news show and doing paperwork on her laptop.

Ah. Front page.

There was a lump under her spread newspaper; reaching under, she fished out Mina's cell phone. The display on the front read "Four missed calls."

Heaving a sigh, she pulled herself up and knocked on the bedroom door. Mina was still asleep, that slug; she must have gone out and stayed out late.

"Wha?" the sleeping girl muttered. Raye opened the door a crack and tossed the phone in.

"Someone wants to get in touch with you, really badly."

Mina fumbled around the bedcovers to find the phone. Four missed calls? She opened the flip top and saw a familiar number on the display.

Jesse had called four times. Good lord, Sunday was a slow-ish day at the gallery, what could he want that couldn't wait until Tuesday?

"Dreyfuss and Drake."

"Hey, it's me." She let out an enormous yawn.

"Mina!" Jesse practically screamed her name into the phone. "OK, first of all, I've been calling you all morning, so I presumed that since you're not awake and working on your next fabulous masterpiece, that you've had a little too much last night and spent it with your head in the toilet, because there is no way you would purposely ignore my calls like that."

"Jesse, point. Please. It's early."

"Um, YEAH, I know it's early!" He was so indignant that he was acting even more queeny than usual. "I know this because I've been here since we opened this morning for the special exhibit! I was up for work probably at the same time that your pretty little head hit the pillow! And I wasn't even the first person here!"

"What? Who was there?" Sundays didn't pick up until the afternoon, when the tourists and browsers started drifting in.

"Tell me first, and don't lie to me, girl. I haven't had enough coffee to deal with bullshit right now.

Is he straight?"

Mina was slightly more awake now. "Is who straight?"

"Oh, damn, that means he is straight. I had a teeny-tiny little piece of hope that with style like that, that he was playing for my team. I mean, that suit was custom, no doubt, and he was wearing Lobbs! I almost proposed federally-illegal marriage right there on the spot."

"Jesse, who are we talking about, please? It's early."

"You said that already, grumpy-pants! And don't be salty with me, I want to know all about this unfortunately straight man with gay style and a body I would punch my own mother in face for. He came in this morning and bought _Victory_!"

Mina bolted upright, tossing the white cat off her stomach where it had been resting. "You're shitting me."

"Would I do that to you this early? I'm telling you, this gorgeous, fucking fabulously dressed, undoubtedly filthy rich guy came in this morning practically right as I was opening the doors and asked to see _Victory_. So I showed it to him, checked out his ass, and five seconds later he said he would take it. I nearly fucking passed right. The. Fuck. Out!"

Mina slid out of her bed onto the floor, taking her comforter and a mess of sheets with her to join the rubble of art supplies and old clothing that surrounded her bed. The car meowed indignantly and leapt onto the windowsill, knocking over a glass full of drying brushes and a half-drank bottle of stale Perrier. "Oh my God. You're kidding. Oh my God." _Victory_ was listed as "price on request".

"I don't kid on Sundays; it's against the Bible or something. I don't know, I've never read it. His name is—" There was a rustling sound as Jesse rummaged through papers. "Kevin Chaston? I have his information here, you have to contact him to negotiate a price. And perhaps you can negotiate him to play for the other team while you're at it so I'd actually have a shot."

"OK." She was flushing alternately hot and cold; on one hand, she had drifted off to sleep last night with the memory of his dark gray eyes watching her, his stare so intense under his pale eyebrows that she nearly felt a hole burn through her. How badly she had wanted to run a finger down his face, his chiseled cheek, the open collar of his shirt, and plant a kiss on the smooth, tanned skin of his collar bone. On the other hand, he had seen her partially nude. And dancing on a pole for money.

She knew before she retired last night, when she was removing her makeup and lingerie, that she needed to see him again, even if she was unsure how, and even if it was possible. Maybe he would always be her daydream, that person that her mind would drift to when she picked up a brush or pencil, and the emotion would pour from her onto the blank canvas. She hadn't planned on him existing on any plane of actual reality.

"When should I do this?"

"I don't know! I've never sold anything of actual value before! Should I call the owner?"

"No! I mean," she was getting up now, reaching for clothing. "We have to talk about this; I'll coming over."

"Do you know how exciting this is?" Jesse crowed. "I finally get to stick a 'SOLD' sticker to something!"

************************************************************************************

Mina arrived thirty minutes later, after a short celebration dance in the kitchen with Raye, applying lip gloss and speed-walking in ankle boots. She couldn't believe how long it had taken her to find something to wear, even though there was practically no _reason_, for Zod's sake, since technically he wasn't even at the gallery anymore, but what if he was, she had to look impossibly cute so that he would think her witty and fabulous and…well, she hadn't daydreamed past that point yet, exactly.

Jesse was waiting for her. "I had an idea! Oh, and fabulous shoes, by the way. Suede?"

"Raye's. I can't afford Choos yet. What's the idea?"

He swept a piece of yellow, lined paper with some scribblings on it at her. "While you were making yourself all pretty, I called Sexy McArtlover and told him you'd like to meet with him to negotiate the sale."

"WHAT?" A tourist couple examining a painting on the wall turned and stared at her squawking.

"Today, at eleven. Which is, oh, look, exactly thirty minutes from now. At the Grinder."

She was totally unprepared for this; in her carefully planned mental orchestration, there were days in between Kevin mentions, thus giving her ample time to talk things over with Raye and mentally prepare. _GOD, Jesse!_ She ripped off her crocheted hat and ran her fingers through her hair. "I can't do this? What do I do? What do I say? Do I look OK? What am I supposed to talk about?"

Jesse shot her a look that clearly indicated that he thought her an imbecile. "OK, first, say hi, introduce yourself as the creator of the piece, and then ask him questions to see what kind of artistic tastes he has, negotiate the price of _Victory_, bat your eyes, start dropping sexual innuendo, and then try and sleep with him. You're beautiful, he'd be crazy not to.

Then, continue to have hot, nasty sex with him, and have him buy you lots of things. Easy peasy. Hell, if I could, I'd do it for you!"

Her blonde head dropped to the counter. "This is crazy. I can't do this." Not to mention, she thought, he's already seen me half naked.

Twenty minutes later, Jesse had kicked her to the sidewalk and she slowly trudged towards the coffee shop, her chest aching with anxiety. She had combed her hair and reapplied lip gloss, and cursed her choice of clothing. Last night, she had been a temptress in her armor of lace and silk and mascara; today, in the daylight, she was Mina Aino, broke-assed artist wearing borrowed shoes and her Andy Warhol t-shirt, black tights and cutoffs, and a freaking _beret_, ready to negotiate her livelihood looking like an Urban Outfitters catalog cross-bred with a community theater. Why couldn't she have spent the extra thirty seconds to change purses, preferably one not bright orange and fringy?

She took a deep breath before she opened the door. _You can do this. You've gotten on stage and performed wearing platforms. You've gotten free drinks and cab fare by winking and smiling. You _can _make outrageous starting bids to a buyer who saw you in garters last night on his birthday. Maybe he won't even remember. _

Kevin was already there, sitting with his back to the door, a half-drank cup of black coffee in front of him. He was preoccupied with tapping away on a PDA. Mina slunk down a little and hurried to the counter, taking care to remain unseen.

The girl behind the counter wasn't even bothering to hide her smile: it reached all the way up to her brilliant green eyes so that they shone like bottle glass. "Jesse just called and told me what happened."

"Double shot, please," Mina begged, her voice low. "I'm running on no fuel and I'm ready to puke with nerves. What do you think?"

Makoto didn't stop grinning as she reached behind her for a cup. "I think that he's very polite, very generous, since he threw me some script in the tip jar, and it looks like he has a lot of money. He drinks plain black, so that means he's uncomplicated and honest." She was quiet for a moment as the espresso machine hissed and steamed. "Also, just between you and me," she said, leaning in. "If I wasn't happily married and sleeping with the hottest, sexiest guy with the tightest ass in the world, I might think that your new 'friend' is the second hottest, sexiest guy with the potentially second tightest ass in the world."

Mina stared at her. "Oh God. Have you been drinking already?"

The brunette pushed a steaming cup towards her. "Not counting your brother, of course. But I've seen his ass. Well, not just me, the whole city block, most of our friends, and the cops, of course."

"I'm going to vomit. Stop, please."

"Alcohol is one hell of a drug."

She groaned. "How much should I ask for? Has he noticed me yet?"

Makoto craned her neck over the shorter girl, wiping her hands on her apron. "A million bucks. And he noticed you just now. He's coming this way!"

Mina squeaked and swiveled, splashing her coffee. Kevin hadn't moved from the table, and his eyes were still locked on the PDA. Makoto started laughing.

"Not funny, jerk!" She threw down a few dollar bills, and before she could lose her nerve, approached the table.

Kevin looked up and smiled, his eyes bloodshot behind rimless glasses. "Mina," he greeted her, standing. She noticed that he smelled damp and freshly showered, and when he stood, he was much, much taller than her. He was wearing black trousers and a button-down shirt, freshly pressed, and Mina had another instance of regretting wearing a white t-shirt with soup cans on it. With a black bra underneath, of course, because that was just the way her day was going.

"Hi!" she said, too high, too excited. "I hope I um, didn't keep you waiting long."

"Of course not." He reached over and pulled the chair out. She couldn't remember anyone doing that for her in recent memory, and she could practically feel Makoto's eyes on them from across the room. "Thank you for meeting with me today."

"Eff that, thanks for buying my painting!" Her eyes widened. "Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out that way. I just—" she lifted the cup. "I haven't had any coffee yet! And I had a long night. Well, you know that already, because, um.

You were there."

She watched as his eyes, steel gray and penetrating, went slight hazy. "Yes." He said, his voice low. "I was."

Mina returned his gaze for a few seconds, wanting to stare at every part of his face at once. If she was looking into his eyes, she couldn't stare at his lips, or his killer bone structure, or the curve of his jaw. Why should she have to pick just one? "You wear glasses!"

"Oh, yes. I'm actually very nearsighted."

She reached over and slowly plucked them from the bridge of his nose, hoping that she looked cute enough to pull this off. If he shoes cost as much as Jesse said they did, the price of his glasses must cover a month of her rent. Grinning, she slid them onto her own face. "How do I look?"

Kevin smiled, at least she thought he did; his glasses were distorting her vision. "I don't really know. I can't see without my glasses."

"Would it help if I got closer?" She leaned in, balancing her upper body over the table.

"Still blurry."

"How about now?" She pushed in closer, stopping a half of a foot away from his face.

Her blue eyes and dark lashes were adorable behind the oversize specs. "Still can't see."

"Brownies!" Makoto interrupted them, dropping two plates on the table. She grinned like a jackal, looking from one face to another.

Mina hastily pulled the eyeglasses from her face and thrust them back at Kevin. "Why thank you, _friend._ Kevin, this is my_ friend, _Makoto. Makoto, this is Kevin Chaston, my newest buyer."

"Friends give friends brownies!" Makoto laughed, ignoring the daggers that Mina was shooting at her. She shook hands. "Nice to meet you. Hope you like the brownies; they're a test batch."

"Makoto's the owner here," Mina explained. "She makes all the pastries and stuff and lets us eat the experiments. Oh, and she lets me hang my art up and sometimes someone buys something."

"Or steals it!" Makoto said happily. "We had a problem of some of Mina's still life miniatures getting up and walking out."

Kevin took a sip of his coffee. "She's a very talented artist."

Makoto picked up some stray napkins. "Let me know if you need refills. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chaston."

"Kevin, please. Pleasure is all mine, Makoto. Thank you again."

After Makoto left, Mina started giggling nervously. "So, about the painting."

"Of course." His dark gray eyes locked with hers. Mina nearly melted.

"So?"

"I'm sorry?"

She forced another laugh. "Isn't this the part where you tell me how much you're willing to pay for it?"

"I've already committed to buy it. The ball's in your court."

Nervously, she picked up a lock of her hair and starting winding it tightly around one finger. "OK, then," and blurted out a number.

He didn't even blink. "I'll have my accountant set up the transfer." She was staring at him, her mouth agape. "What?"

Mina's eyes darting back and forth as she began laughing in earnest. "Wait, aren't you supposed to like, under bid or something?"

"I'm supposed to do what now?"

"You know, I name one number, then you say 'No! That's too much!' and then lower the price, and then I lower it a little, and we do that a couple of times until we reach the middle ground."

His expression shifted from confusion to amusement. "Do you want me to pay less?"

"Do you want to?"

Kevin laughter was like his voice, deliberate and low. "Mina, we're not talking about a toaster at a yard sale. This is your magnum opus I'm buying, and whatever you are willing to part for it, I am willing to pay."

She broke into a grin. "Million bucks."

"Ah, now we start negotiating."

The shots of espresso in her bloodstream were starting to kick in. "So, where are you going to put my painting, anyway? Darien mentioned that you just moved into town. Do you even have a place yet?"

"Actually, no. I was going to take care of that tomorrow."

"Well," Mina took a deep breath, unsure of how she was going to phrase her next sentence without seeming too eager. "I can help you look, if you like."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "I was going to have a realtor pick something out."

"Are you serious? You're going to have a stranger pick out your new home?"

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"Oh my God, _yes._" Her eyes were wide. "This is going to be your new home! It's going to be your sanctuary, and only you know what makes you completely comfortable. It's like having someone pick out your clothes or something."

"I do have someone pick out my clothes."

She stared. "You're kidding!"

He shrugged. "I don't have the time or inclination to do so. Actually, I haven't even unpacked yet."

Mina's eyes traveled to the ceiling as she let out another squeak of laughter. "I can't imagine anyone picking out my clothes."

"I can't imagine it either." He took another drink, his eyes never leaving her face. "You are truly unique, Mina."

**************************************************************************************

"And then he said, 'You are truly unique, Mina'!" She fell over the arm of the couch, her blond hair spilling over the side. "Was that an 'I want you so bad' compliment, a 'I find you interesting in that weird way' compliment, or the 'I have to say something nice here because you're dressed like a weirdo and I'm super fucking rich and just bought your painting' compliment?"

"What was the first choice again?" Raye asked, tucking her long legs underneath her. She had patiently listened to Mina hammer out the details of her morning coffee date twice already, and each time the blond girl found another phrase or expression that she had to dissect.

"'I want you so bad'."

Raye pursed her lips in thought. "Well, considering he only just met you, I don't think he meant it overtly. Can I go with the third option?"

Mina wailed and buried her face in her arms. "He doesn't find me attractive. I'm hideous."

Raye rolled her eyes so hard they ached. "Mina, he bought your damn painting for probably three times what it is worth. What exactly does he do, again?"

"He's a…international capital investment wealth analyst something something. I wasn't really paying attention when he tried to explain it and it sounded really boring. He moved here to head some new…money bank thing place."

"And this guy likes your art."

"That's the thing!" Mina sat up. "I tried to see how his tastes run and if there was anything that I could commission for him and you know what he said? 'I never really thought about it'! This is the new owner of _Victory_, which is one of the few pieces I'm really proud of and I don't think this guys knows art, at all."

"And you know nothing about money," Raye countered. "Speaking of, rent's due."

"Yeah, I gave it to Jason this afternoon. But enough about that, do you know how cute his glasses were?"

Raye sighed and leaned back on the couch. "So now what?"

"Now he has to find a place to live, and then he'll contact me to arrange payment and delivery of my blood, sweat, and lots of tears and then either he starts paying me to redecorate his new house or he sends me a Christmas card of my painting hanging in his garage."

Her friend leaned over and mussed Mina's hair as she stood up.


	2. Chapter 2: Stacks on Me

CHAPTER BREAK

Chapter 2: Stacks on me, Patron on Ice

"Mina!"

She turned and searched the crowd for the source of the voice. "Makoto! You made it!" She pushed through the crowded gallery; nearly knocking herself out of her new gold gladiator boots, and wrapped her friend in an ecstatic hug. "And Noah!" She turned to the tall, dark-haired man and redoubled her hug efforts. "I haven't seen you in forever! Where's the baby?"

"We got a babysitter for the weekend!" Noah said. "Otherwise known as my parents, who are probably regretting that decision right about…now."

"Aja won't change out of her Tinkerbell costume and she cut her own bangs with a pair of safety scissors." Makoto explained, linking her arm around her husband's. "I know Noah's mom wanted to take her to the country club and show her off to all her lady friends that lunch, but that costume's getting tattered as hell and she'll only eat foods that are yellow right now. And we think that somehow she picked up a swear word, but she only says it when we're not really listening so we can't bust her properly."

Mina shot a look to Noah. "What? I can't help it that she listens when I watch football. Anyway, it should make for an interesting weekend. Twenty bucks says she drops it in right after my mother forces her to eat watercress sandwiches." He kissed the top of his wife's curly head. "We only get to have grown-up fun once in a while. Ah, alcohol!" He deftly nabbed a passing waiter with a tray full of wine glasses.

"And you decided to come to my show, instead of like, you know, staying home and having sex! You guys are the best!"

"Nice dress!" Makoto held Mina at arm's length and forced her to twirl. "Is this new?"

"Of course!" The money from Darien and _Victory_ had been burning a crater in her imaginary pocket since the transfer went through. After a chunk of it had gone to student loans, and another as an advance on next month's rent, and finally, repayment to a few friends that she owed money to, she pulled some out and came home loaded with shopping bags. "Nanette Lapore! Do you think the color is too, like, loud?"

"What, turquoise? Nah."

"So, any word from…?" Makoto let the question trail while Noah examined a painting covered in LED lights.

It felt like a sock to the gut. "Not exactly. He hasn't moved the painting yet, and when I called him the other day, he didn't pick up. I think he's out of town." She smiled suddenly. "Whatever! Let's have some drinks and some fun and hopefully I'll sell some of these pieces to people who aren't my close personal friends and family. I'm totally feeling these boots, too. These are sex boots."

"Yeah, I really didn't want to hear that." Jason, proving that he hadn't matured past the eighth grade, deadlegged his sister as he rolled an amp across the floor. "Where am I setting up?" He spotted Noah and pulled the other man into a man-hug. "Noah! Where you been, man?"

"Work, family, rinse, repeat. Hey, are you going to join our basketball league? I need a point that can actually handle the ball."

"Oh shit, you know I'm good at handling balls."

"Corner, please," Mina said, kicking Jason away. "And hurry up, it's starting to get crowded." More people had filtered in; the usual Friday night art crowd that would drink the free wine and hold pretentious conversations about every piece before leaving for the clubs without purchasing anything. She was sharing the opening with a few other artists, and the one who had created abstract sculpture out of chicken wire and surgical tubing was attracting a rather interesting mix of people.

"Darien coming?" Noah asked.

"God, it seems like everyone knows Darien. And I don't think so; he was taking his wife on vacation to Mexico for a few weeks."

"He's married! Get out."

"He has been for awhile. I haven't met his wife yet; apparently she's some socialite who writes children's books about moon bunnies or something. I've seen pictures."

Raye suddenly appeared at her elbow, wearing a black bandage dress and sky-high stilettos, and looking absolutely smashing. "What's up, guys?"

Makoto pulled her into a hug. "Please tell me it is work and not my pastry fuckups that have been keeping you away."

"It's work," Raye laughed, and gave Noah a peck on the cheek in greeting. "You know I love to eat your fuckups. How and where is Aja?"

Instead of responding, Makoto's mouth dropped. She shot out one hand and grabbed Mina's elbow, and spun the blond around so fast that again, she nearly ate shit in her new shoes.

"Mina," she breathed. Next to them, Raye let out a quick gasp.

"What are you guys looking at?" Noah asked, clueless.

Mina's eyes were locked on the line coming in the door.

* * *

For probably the fourth time since exiting the car, walking the twenty feet from the sidewalk to the gallery entrance, and stepping in line behind the guy with the twelve-inch, green Mohawk, Kevin wondered what had possessed him to a) wear a suit to an exhibit opening that had a picture of a human-eyed pug dog on the invitation and b) show up in the first place unironically.

The answer for both: Mina. He hadn't stopped thinking about her.

He spotted her over the top of Mohawk, huddled with the girl from the coffee shop and a few others, her blond hair spilling in waves over her turquoise dress that was very, very short, and outrageous footwear that was partway between a boot and a sandal. The room's ambient noise filtered away, as did the crazily dressed crowd of pretentious art patrons, and only she existed amongst the chaos and noise. His heart had leapt when he found the invitation to her opening in the pile of mail that was waiting for him when he had returned from Hong Kong. He had remembered the way her blue eyes teased him from behind his glasses lenses at the coffee shop, and immediately blocked off time in his calendar.

She ran up to him, practically skidding to a stop. "Kevin! Hi! You made it!"

"Hey, yeah, thanks." He said, returning the stare of a skinny guy in a full-length Neo coat that was eyeing him up. "I'm sorry I didn't RSVP, but I was out of the country."

"No worries." God, her smile was brilliant. "Let me introduce you to some friends of mine. You already know Makoto."

"Hi again," Makoto leaned in. "This is Noah, my husband."

"What's up, man?" Noah shook his hand.

"What's up. Kevin."

Mina pulled a black-haired girl forward. "This is Raye, my roommate. Raye, this is Kevin Chaston, the new owner of _Victory_."

Raye smiled and shook his hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Hey!" Jason suddenly appeared and wound an arm protectively around Raye's waist. "What's going on, bro? Nice suit!"

"Thank you."

"I really mean it too," Jason continued. "You look sharp, I have a real appreciation for dressing nice. See, well, I'm a graphic designer, and since I do all of my work from my home office, formal wear for me is like, putting on clean boxers when the old ones start to smell like ball sweat."

Mina closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Kevin, unfortunately this is my brother. Jason, this is Kevin Chaston."

"Oh you're the guy who bought her massive-assed painting!" Jason blurted. "Shit, man, where the hell are you going to put that thing? That thing needs a fucking airplane hangar or something."

"Jason!" Mina and Raye said simultaneously. Mina continued with her thought. "Shut up and go play music."

"OK, fine. Good to meet you Kevin."

"You, too." He was hyperaware of Mina's hand on his arm.

"Want to check out some exhibits?" She asked, as Jason set up audio equipment across the room.

"Sure."

* * *

"What do you think? Hot, yeah?"

"What do you mean, what do I think?" Noah shifted uncomfortably and took a drink. "I don't feel sufficiently qualified to judge whether another guy is hot or not."

"Not you!" Raye hit him lightly on the sleeve. "I was talking to Makoto."

Makoto reached up and covered her husband's ears with her hands. "Very. But not really Mina's type, don't you think?"

"Oh please, her type has been stupid, emotionally-parasitic, scenester losers who wouldn't hand her a band-aid if she broke her leg. This guy is obviously into her, I mean, I don't think he's that into art, but he came and uh, he's not exactly dressed for the occasion." They paused and watched a girl pass by wearing a clear plastic raincoat and an orange spandex bodysuit.

"Aw, look." Makoto pointed to the couple across the room, standing in front of some sort of water sculpture. "She's introducing him to bad art."

"It's not all bad," Raye commented, taking a swallow of her wine and. "Mina's been into a lot of charcoal right now, and some is actually palatable, and that one guy has some good photographs, but yeah, I'll agree, that one is pretty bad. You can tell from here that it's mostly PVC piping and desperation."

"Can I listen now?" Noah asked. "Would you like a guy's opinion?"

"Yes, dear." Makoto smiled.

"He's obviously out of his comfort zone, it doesn't look like he'll fit in with this crowd, and he bought her painting that's the size of a Jumbotron and cost more than most cars. He wants it so bad."

"Tell me something I don't know," Raye said, watching her friend laugh and touched her companion's arm. "Oh God, I'm going to have to break the news to Jason that his sister may become sexually active again very soon. Give me another drink."

* * *

"Oh, this one is mine," Mina said, biting her lip. Her anxiety had increased from "a few deep breaths" level to "popping Valium like Tic Tacs" every minute that she spent in close proximity to Kevin. "Twenty bucks if you can tell what it is."

Kevin half-smiled as he leaned in closer to the picture. "I'm guessing it's…the ocean?" Mina grinned and shook her head. "A lake? River? It's some type of body of water. Am I getting close?"

She scrunched her nose. "Not really. Would you like another guess?"

"Please."

"OK."

He thought a moment. "Wind? Smoke?"

She shook her head again, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Kevin could not imagine anyone more beautiful that this girl, at this moment. "I'm not even close, am I? You're going to have to tell me."

"It's anger," she said, pointing. "See all the faces I put in the bends? It's supposed to represent that physical feeling you get when anger is taking you over and you're just about to do something crazy."

"I see it now." They moved to another exhibit. "This one's yours, too."

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, hoping that she was exposing her bare shoulder appealingly without looking like she was trying too hard. "Would you like to take a guess at this one, too?"

Kevin leaned down towards her exposed shoulder, and Mina closed her eyes softly as his breath tickled her ear. "Only if we up the wager."

In the background, Jason started playing his guitar, with another guy slowly singing along into the microphone.

"I'm OK with that," she replied. "You already owe me twenty bucks."

He leaned closer to whisper. "If I guess right, you let me take you to dinner."

Something in Mina's chest thrummed like Jason's guitar strings. "I don't really have any incentive to lose this."

"If I guess wrong you give me my twenty back."

"I can live with that." She opened her eyes. "I'm warning you, I was feeling especially creative with this one."

He was quiet for a few moments. "There are a lot of lines in it."

"Hundreds. It took me a while."

"If I had to guess, I would say that you were feeling intensely negative," he said. "And everything is straight lines and angles, so it wasn't a good feeling, because all of your other works have a lot of curves, and I think you're a generally happy person."

"You haven't made a guess yet."

Kevin smiled, and it reached to his dark gray eyes. "This is jealousy."

Her mouth dropped. "How do you know?"

"With all the time it took for you to complete, I'm assumed that you wanted to take your mind off of something."

Mina shut her eyes to the room and the noise and went back in time, remembering the rain that pounded on the windowsill that day while she methodically sketched those hundreds of lines, and the din of the weather and the formation of lines on paper was ineffective at erasing the picture of Casey and his new girlfriend having lunch together on the sidewalk, smiling and kissing in between bites of chicken salad. "Good guess. You're right. You must be really good at reading people."

"That and I read the card next to it." Sure enough, in neat typeface, were the words: "_Jealousy. _Ink on paper. Mina Aino. $250."

"Cheater. No deal."

"Hey!" Suddenly Jesse was between them, throwing his arms around Mina. "Darling, someone just bought your paper collage! And I think this person can actually pay." He plunked his fedora on her head and turned to Kevin. "I'm sorry, love, I have to borrow your sweetheart for a moment."

"Jesse!" Mina's scalp was starting to burn with heat.

"Oh, you'll only be a few minutes." He turned again to Kevin, completely obliterating the other man's view of Mina. "But please, check out some of our other exhibits! We've got some really provocative works that are really it right now."

"Provocative is his code word for tasteless!" Mina called over her shoulder as she was led away.

Kevin continued to stare at the lines of Mina's jealousy when he felt the presence of someone at his elbow. It was Raye, the roommate, wearing all black to match her ebony hair, and sipping a full glass of champagne. "Like it?" she asked, pointing at the drawing.

"Not bad."

"You should have seen all the drama that went into it," Raye said. "That was a particularly low period for her."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah," Raye said, giving him a sideways glance that was so sharp it practically cut. "I wouldn't want that to start again."

* * *

The new buyer wasted a good half hour of time Mina could have been using to seduce Kevin with her new sex boots, and was stuck instead listening to the woman ramble on about her redecorating plans for a condo she had just bought on the east side. Fishbowls and free form sculpture. It sounded hideous, but she paid cash, so Mina nodded and agreed that yes, replacing the bed and all chairs in the house with hammocks was a great idea. She would love to come and check it out sometime, and maybe take a look at the screenplay that the buyer was in the process of writing.

Finally, she was released back into the wild, and searched frantically for the familiar face. She found Makoto and Noah in a corner, their heads bent at different angles as they tried to decipher what exactly they were looking at.

Makoto's face was screwed up in disgust. "Is this…is this thing real?" she asked, her voice high and tight and very scared.

Mina didn't even give the two-headed fetus in the jar a second glance. "Silicone and rubber suspended in acetone. And if it doesn't disappear tonight, I'm going to throw it in a dumpster and say a protester did it."

Noah took a long swallow from his glass. "I think it would be even more tasteless if it was real."

"They're asking eight hundred dollars for it."

"Gah! Throw it in the dumpster! Save humanity!"

"Don't go to this chick's gallery; you'll never eat again. Anyone seen Kevin?" She couldn't believe that she couldn't find him; not only was he probably the tallest person in the gallery, he stuck out like a Secret Service agent at a Grateful Dead concert.

"I was just talking to him!" Noah was suddenly all smiles again. "Good guy. I think I got him to join our basketball league! We'll finally have a center that can dunk."

"Congratulations." She scanned the room again, and spotted Kevin off to the side talking with _Jesse_. If she didn't act, and quickly, there was no telling what would happen.

"Excuse me."

Jesse had his hand on Kevin's arm when she approached. "So, where's your work?" he asked the much taller man.

Kevin shifted a little. "I'm not an artist."

"You're NOT!" Jesse threw his head back. "I could have sworn—it's because you just have such _style_, you know, I thought you could be one of the exhibitors. The one who makes those really masculine etchings on bronze."

"No, I actually can't even draw a straight line. And you've met me before, at the gallery."

"Oh," Jesse said, giving him a sideways, teasing glance. Mina nearly broke her neck rolling her eyes. "I thought you might be a much more_...creative_ type." One finger ran down the length of Kevin's sleeve.

"OK, that's enough, thanks for keeping him company, Jesse." Mina shoved herself between the two men. "Can you go round everyone up? I think we're leaving soon."

Jesse adjusted the scarf he was wearing and flashed a toothy smile at Kevin. "I hope you'll join us. Mina, invite him."

"Of course."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Did I just get hit on?"

"Um, yeah, actually. Jesse still thinks that you're repressing your true sexuality because…" she let her voice trail away.

"Because?"

"Because you dress so nice."

He laughed softly as the twelve-inch green Mohawk passed by arm in arm with the girl in the plastic raincoat. Mina joined in, and they spent a few pleasant moments giggling together.

Raye seemed to materialize in a flash of black fabric and red lips. "We're taking off and going to Cryo. Are you two coming?"

"Are you coming?" Mina asked, hopeful.

* * *

"Oh my God. They are friends now. They are like, best friends."

Mina giggled and laid her head on Jesse's shoulder as they watched Kevin and Noah talking together on the leather couches. Every few minutes Noah pantomimed shooting a basketball. Jason sat on the other side, on his fifth vodka on the rocks and getting rather sloppy.

"BFFs," Raye chimed in. "Anyone want another drink?"

Mina held up her empty glass. "Me."

"Me too," Makoto said, reaching for her purse. Raye waved it off.

"Don't worry about it, Kevin opened a tab."

"Oooh," Mina said. She and Makoto exchanged glances and started laughing again.

"Yeah I know. That's why they're over there drinking hundred dollar vodka made from pineapples or something." Raye didn't mention that Kevin had passed a hundred to the bouncer to let them bypass the line, which wasn't short, or that he had opened the bar tab with a black American Express card, or that probably from the combination of those factors got them into the VIP area, which sent Jesse practically into spasms. In actuality, it was just less crowded than the regular area, and very tackily decorated.

"I want to kiss him," Mina admitted. The alcohol was starting to turn her head fuzzy, but he looked so good, dressed in a suit, and the way his pale eyebrows knitted together as Jason tried to debate with him about something most likely sports-related was incredibly sexy. She wanted to go over to him, pull the collar of his shirt away from his neck and plant her lips on the warmth of his skin, trace his jawline with her lips, nip at his earlobe.

Mina never thought she would feel that way about someone that perhaps a year ago would have laughed off as a repressed yuppie.

Jesse sniffed. "Honey, join the club. But I think tonight you have a much better chance than I do."

Makoto pulled herself up and gripped one of the brass poles that the club had decided to install. "What is it with stripper poles? Why is everyone putting in stripper poles? When did this become trendy?"

"Don't knock it, honey, we used to be pretty good on these poles," Raye admitted. "Well, I was pretty good on the poles; you two were just background hoochies."

Mina started. "Oh, bull! I was just as good! You were just more flexible!"

"I was flexible," Makoto commented mildly.

"No, you were strong, not flexible. And I definitely the best dancer!"

"Dance-off!" Jesse shouted, clapping his hands. "Come on, girls, show me you still have it!"

"I can't!" Makoto protested. "I had a baby! My center of gravity is all messed up now."

"Please, sweetie, that's bullshit. Do you know how many dancers have kids?"

Mina jumped up and put her drink down. "It's on now." Gripping with her hands and knees, she did a slow spin to the floor.

Raye was fired up. "Rookie. Let me show you how it's done." She adjusted the hemline on her dress, grateful that the bandage style was tight enough to cling to her body without riding up. She swung her body up, wound her legs around the pole, and slid headfirst to the floor, her body stretched out to its full length.

Across the room, Jason noticed Kevin watching the women out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat. "OK, just to set the record straight, they used to be burlesque dancers. _Not _strippers. There were no dollar bills or nudity or anything."

Kevin, to his credit, didn't change his expression.

"Yeah, so like, don't get the wrong impression." His face was dark. "It wasn't anything probably like what you're thinking. And they gave it up a while ago, for the record."

Kevin didn't look away. "Really," he lied. "I didn't know that."

* * *

Mina waved as the taxi pulled away with Makoto and Noah, the latter probably happier at getting Kevin's phone number and promise that he would join their basketball league in the upcoming weeks than spending an evening out with his wife. Makoto took it in stride, though, after Kevin cleared the tab without the knowledge or permission of the group. She promised him free coffee for life.

"Thanks for coming tonight," she murmured to him as they stood outside of the club. The street was dark and wet, and the streetlights reflected orange on the puddles on the ground. Raye and Jason were somewhere, trying to hail a club, and Jesse was talking to some people he knew and having a cigarette under the damp awning.

"Of course." Kevin pulled one hand through his hair. "I have to leave tomorrow."

"Oh." She didn't even try to hide the disappointment in her voice. "Where are you going?"

"London. I'm, uh, going to be there for a couple of weeks."

Mina stared the pavement. Well, that just wasn't fucking fair. Just when they were starting to…start.

"But I you owe me something when I get back."

She looked up. "Do I?"

"I won our bet. You have to come to dinner with me."

"OK." She tried to shrug a shoulder out of her dress again to seal the deal. Their eyes locked again, hers wide and blue underneath dark lashes, her makeup smudging a little at the corners, and his dark gray and penetrating. Mina couldn't breathe or think, she simply stopped, and watched his eyes shine at her under the wet night.

"Mina!" Raye yelled, erupting the moment, while she and Jason climbed into an empty cab. "You coming?"

She turned back to Kevin. "I'm sorry, I've got to, um."

"It's all right." He fumbled in his pocket, seeming to search for something, although Mina had never seen him do this action before. He always knew where everything was placed. "I'll contact you when I'm back from London. Would that be all right?"

"Yeah," she whispered, breathless.

Jason was getting impatient. "MINA!"

"I'm coming!" she yelled back, and turned back to Kevin. "Sorry, I, uh. I-I, I'm…"

Gently, he took her face in his hands, warm against her skin, and gently brushed her bangs away from her nose before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. She let her eyelids fall and let herself dissolve in the warm heat and soft pressure, trying to memorize every soft touch, every tiny moment so she could replay it later, and feel it all over again.

It was over in seconds. She would remember it for her lifetime.

"Goodbye," she murmured, shyly backing away until she hit the curb and climbed into the cab after her brother.

"Bye." Kevin didn't think anyone was around to hear him, until a plume of smoke hit the side of his face. Jesse pushed his hat back and sighed.

"Congratulations. She's a masterpiece."

"I know," he said softly, her scent of sugared fruit still wrapped around him like a trail of heat from a mirage. He turned to the other man. "Need a ride home?"

Jesse elaborately flipped his cigarette butt over his shoulder. "Oh, honey, I thought you'd never ask!"

* * *

She did hear from him sooner than expected. A lazy Thursday passed while she sketched another stupid dog picture for another commission, this one in a six foot square of a sharpei, and that evening Raye knocked when she came home from work, holding out a flat FedEx package.

"For you," she said, her suit coat unbuttoned. Mina felt slightly guilty for spending the entire day in her uniform of a tank top and panties, her hair messily piled on top of her head. She reached for a box cutter and slit the package open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, with a pastel sketch of a fountain, somewhere on a city street, with three figures burning in bright orange flames. The street artist had named and signed his work on the bottom, and a yellow post it note dangled off the page with small, neat writing jotted across it.

Raye was a faster reader. "Aw."

Mina felt her face smile with no help from her brain. The note read:

"Your _Jealousy_ is better than this guy's _Jealousy_. –Kevin"

London was pretty routine by now. Kevin had spent thirteen hours a day working with very little downtime, the projects seeming to pile up faster than his team could complete them, and a distinct lack of communication with some partners that had more to do with old politics than current standing, a slight relief if it wasn't so fuck-off annoying. So with this day off, the night before he left, he threw caution to damp, foggy, English wind, ordered a pizza, and climbed in the shower with a bottle of beer. Makoto's husband, Noah, had enlightened Kevin to the simple pleasure of sucking down a cold one while in the shower, and this new discovery seemed to melt all the stress away with every blissful sip. He wondered why no one had told him about this sooner, or better yet, why he hadn't made this discovery on his own.

Of course, he had passed on this sage advice to an intimate group of associates. Darien had suggested adding masturbation into the mix to maximize the pleasure effects, but he wasn't too keen on losing focus and dropping a glass bottle into a porcelain tub from six feet up while his brain was on autopilot. It would be too embarrassing to explain to the paramedics.

No, he preferred to "lose focus" at night, when he could lay back and think about Mina, her blonde hair and bright smile, more so the memory of her the morning of the coffee shop with his glasses perched on her nose than when they had first met, in black lingerie and the capture of night.

He would be returning to her proximity in the next day. He needed to talk to Zach.

Zach would be awake this time of night, most likely hammering away at some column or blog post, and when he popped up on the screen of Kevin's laptop, his assumptions were proven correct.

"Hey!" Zach's blonde curls were sticking up in a messy, uneven Jewfro, his glasses were crooked, but the young journalist looked far from fatigued as he shoved takeout boxes away from the view of the webcam. "What's going on, bro? Still in London?"

Kevin sighed and leaned back on the sofa, smiling and rubbing his eyes. "Yeah. Don't you wish you were here, too?"

"Let me think about that. Do I wish that I were still trying to commit suicide by workload, popping pills to stay awake and practically freebasing caffeine, gelling down my glorious fro every morning and stuffing myself into a suit and tie to conform to some retarded Western mentality that I'm worthless unless I'm making shareholders and executives obscenely wealthy, and driving a Ferrari and snorting assloads of cocaine to deal with the crushing loneliness from lack of meaningful human contact and relationships in exchange for my very soul?

I'll stick to bitching over the print media and enlightening my dedicated online readers to the latest in environmental politics, thank you. All six of them. Wait, five. One was just carted off to the nuthouse."

Kevin paused. "I don't do cocaine."

"Nor do you have a fro, my friend, which makes the decision to stay in the rat race easier for you. Me, I have discovered that living off my savings and doing what I love, which is bitching at things and not washing my dishes, have brought me more happiness that taming my hair and breaking the souls of lesser beings ever has. I even traded in the Maserati for a Prius hybrid. Makes it easier when I go through the drive-thru. Less stares."

"Never change, Zach."

"Besides my career, I won't. Now what's up? Need me to crunch some numbers again?"

"No. Just wanted to talk."

Zach gave him a peculiar look. "You never just want to talk. Is it that artist girl?"

Kevin grunted. Across the ocean, Zach let out a shout and slammed his palm on the desk, knocking balled papers and napkins to the floor. "Wow, she's got you hooked, bro. I need to see this girl for myself, make sure she's good enough for you."

"She is," Kevin said, perhaps a little too quickly.

"So, what's the big deal? Just give her a call when you get in, make a date, and take her to a ball game or something. I'll even give you some of my season tickets if you promise to not get anything on the seats that I might stick to later."

Ball game. _Ball. _"Oh crap," Kevin muttered under his breath. "The Red Ball. I forgot all about it."

Zach sniggered. "Are you serious? How? Your sister chairs the damn thing!"

Kevin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You think it would be too weird if I, you know, asked her to go with me?"

Zach was quiet for a moment in thought. "Hey, if she's as cool and special as you say she is, then I'm sure she'd be OK with it. But promise to take her on an actual, real date afterwards so that the weirdness factor is reduced a little. In fact, call her right now while you're online with me so I can listen. I'll be quiet."

"Zach, we're not in high school."

"Whatever, you're the one that called me in the middle of the night to get advice on asking a girl to the movies, loser. Come on, call her. She won't even know I'm here."

Kevin chuckled and popped open another beer. "Thanks Zach. I think I will call her."

"In the meantime, I'll help. Can I google her?"

"No. Don't google her."

"Brah, you know you want me to google her. You probably already have."

"I haven't."

"Liar. Here, I'll do it right now."

"Don't google her!"

"OK, OK. Shit. Don't get so worked up; she's probably done it to you already."

"Zach."

"Fine! Good luck. If all goes well, the next mission we undertake could be getting me laid. I think my dick's going to break off soon if I don't use it properly."

"Well, then, you shouldn't have traded in the Maserati, idiot."

* * *

It was early morning when her phone rang, and Mina was still asleep, dreaming of chiseled cheekbones and soft lips. The cat hissed as the phone starting beeping and leapt off the bed and into the overstuffed closet.

"Unknown number," she muttered to herself. Holding back a huge yawn, she flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mina." She smiled, suddenly wide awake, as she recognized the voice.

"HEY!" she shouted accidentally. "How's London? Are you back in town? Oh, by the way, I got the picture you sent me, and you're right, the guy had some inspiration but the execution was really sloppy, I could see the sketch underneath the pastel, he didn't remove all of it…"

"I'm glad you liked it. Or didn't like it, I guess."

"I liked the thought," she said. "I guess that means you were thinking about me in London."

He laughed softly at her flirting. "I was. Uh, in fact, you were the first person that came to mind when I realized I have a favor to ask."

"What kind of favor?" _I hope it's not too weird._

"Well, the black tie kind."

* * *

"Red Ball? You mean, the annual charity Red Ball, right?"

Mina grunted an affirmation as she dug through the dark recesses of Raye's closet, flinging away hangers full of Ann Taylor work-y looking clothes. "Did you ever have to go?"

Raye curled her legs underneath her on the bed. "Once, when I was dating that guy from the city council, but that was a long time ago and there's a new board of directors chairing it. I heard they really turned it around."

"Yeah, one of the chairs is his sister," Mina said. She pulled out a Chinese red sheath and held it up to her body. "Too obvious?"

"Yes, and that's a summer dress, and very not your color. You have to go more formal."

"Ugh. Why can't people raise money for genetic research in normal clothes? If they have to buy formal wear, then that's just less money that they have to donate, and that's less research that gets done and less rare genetic diseases they can cure." Actually, she had no idea how the whole thing worked; she just desperately hoped there were no collection baskets or anything that would put her on the spot.

"Mina, I don't think money is a problem for the people that go to these kind of events. I wore an off-the-rack BCBG and it felt like I showed up in sweatpants."

Mina threw another dress to the ground and flopped on the bed next to Raye. "God, why am I going to this? For one thing, I don't know anyone besides Kevin, I don't know what to wear, I don't do high society, I can't make small talk with rich old people, and God, I'm going to stick out like a rancid, infected thumb. Why can't we just say 'screw it' and go to a movie or something?"

Raye sighed. "Well, for one, I think it's going to be mostly rich young people."

"Wonderful. I'm going to be surrounded by ex-college Republicans. Wait until they find out about those anti-capitalism pieces I made back in the day."

"Think about it this way. He's probably locked into this; do you want him going with another woman as his date?"

Mina's eyes popped open. "Dear Christ, no."

"And he seems like a good guy. Do you think he'll leave you to the wolves?"

"No, not really."

"And if he does get pulled away, you can excuse yourself and go through his car and find out just how much frigging money he has. Good God, he picked up our entire bar tab and has his own driver! Let's google him."

"What?"

Raye's face was lit up with mania. "Google. Let's google him. Make sure he's not part of some sketchy hedge fund shit or owns sweatshops in Cambodia or has ex-wives and a bunch of illegitimate kids."

"Raye, he doesn't. I've already googled him and there's nothing but boring business stuff. He doesn't even have Facebook."

Raye looked a little disappointed. "Oh. Well, good, then."

Mina stood and continued her exhausting search through Raye's closet, somewhat amazed that someone with such an organized professional life would have such a hellhole cave of a closet in her room, and wondered if Raye had her own baby clothes stashed in the back. "Oh, look, I think I found your off-the-rack BCBG." She pulled it out. "It's not sweatpants, you drama queen. It's not bad." Actually, Mina thought it was rather stylish for being a few years old. The spaghetti straps were a little dated, and the ribbon sash could definitely go, but the cut was great, long and lean with movement at the hem, and a deep blue color that reminded her of…

She had a vision: adjusting the straps and neckline, ditching the ribbon, pulling up the hem into a slit. "Got some scissors? This off-the-rack is not going to be staying that way."

* * *

"Raye," Mina whined. "It's not working."

Raye pulled an elastic band off of her wrist and tied her black hair back hastily. "I'm going with Plan B. Curling iron and hairspray. We're going prom hair here; we're going Miss America. I'm not fucking around anymore."

"Oh, please don't give me Miss America hair!"

Jason entered the kitchen, intent on procuring another beer to get him through the White Sox shitting it up in extra innings, and stopped when he saw his girlfriend and sister at the table with some sort of medieval apparatus that involved heat and rollers, and Mina's hair tangled around it. "You guys need help?"

Raye leaned over and pecked him on the lips. "You're sweet for offering, but this fight is between me and your sister's hair. I can't afford civilian casualties."

He twisted the top off his bottle and leaned against the counter. "What time is this guy coming over?"

"Don't ask that question, because we don't want to know the answer." Mina squirmed miserably in the hard kitchen chair, wearing nothing but a thin cotton robe. "Because the answer is probably pretty freaking soon, and my hair still won't curl the right way, and I cut my leg shaving before because I was rushed and I can't afford any more accidents."

"That's negative thinking," Raye interrupted, plugging in the curling iron. "No negative thinking. Negative thinking leads to ugly hair and universal scorn."

Mina peeked out from her crown of curlers and gave her best pathetic face to her older brother. "Actually, can you do me a favor?"

"As long as it's not messing around with hair or makeup, I can."

"If Kevin gets here and I'm not ready, which very well may happen, and that's not negative thinking Raye, that's reality, can you like, distract him for a little while?"

Jason took a long swallow. "I guess," he said grudgingly, like his sister had just asked for a fresh kidney that he would have to retrieve himself.

She frowned, and a lock of blond hair boinked out of its curler and fell down her face. "Wait, wait, what's with the attitude? You liked Kevin well enough when he was picking up your bar tab and pretending to listen to all your fantasy baseball crap."

"That was when he was a potential new brodude to chill with, and not some guy who is trying to nail my sister."

Raye rolled her eyes. "Jason."

"He does have an awesome car, though." He shrugged and made his retreat back to the couch. "You could do worse, Mina."

She smiled. "Thanks."

"Just make sure you keep your purse zipped, if you know what I mean."

"God, you're disgusting! Raye, you're actually in a relationship with this guy?"

Raye was nothing if not persistent; her next attempt at keeping Mina's long blonde hair curled neatly was high heat and some sort of clear goo. Mina's scalp was starting to ache. "Can you help me paste my bra on?"

Raye sighed. "Those are some words I'd thought I'd never hear again."

"Get over it, I've done it to you plenty of times!"

Five minutes later: "Screw it, this thing isn't sticking. How badly do you pop out?"

Mina was on the verge of panic. "Pretty damn bad. Do we have any tape?"

Jason was in the middle of cursing out the relief pitcher who had just loaded the bases when there was a knock at the door. "Kevin, is that you?"

"Yes," came the muffled voice from the hallway.

"Hold on a second." With some maneuvering, he skirted over to the door without taking his eyes off of the TV. He opened it just as the pitcher wound up. The pitch was thrown: ball three. "Oh my God, if you fuck this up you piece of shit…"

Kevin stood in the hallway wearing a tuxedo and a puzzled expression. "Are you talking to me, or to Blanchard?"

"Blanchard. Fucking rookie just loaded the bases and Guillen won't pull him. I'm about to kick the TV in. Want a beer?"

Kevin checked his watch as he sat next to Jason on the couch. "Is Mina going to be awhile?"

As an answer to his question, Raye suddenly burst out of Mina's room yelling about super glue and double sided tape, and stomped into the kitchen and began yanking open drawers. "Let me get you that beer," Jason said, standing.

The relief pitcher was pulled before the next pitch, and the new pitcher started warming up in the bullpen. "Thank fuck." Jason breathed, taking another swallow and watching the other man out of the corner of his eye. Kevin had gone Windsor knot and zero embellishment instead of the goofy bow tie and cummerbund, looking more like a secret agent instead of high-class waiter. Jason couldn't resist asking. "Do you like going to this kind of stuff?"

"Charity balls? Are you kidding?" He gestured at the TV with the neck of his beer bottle. "Come on, man, the game's on. I'm only going because of my sister."

"Hell, I know what that's like. MINA!" He suddenly screamed. If Kevin were a more nervous person, he would have jumped and spilled his beer onto his crotch. "What's taking you so long?"

Her voice was muffled behind her bedroom door. "I'm almost ready, you jerk! Stop yelling at me!"

They settled back in, waiting for the new relief to take the field. Jason was still curious. "What about your job?"

"My job?"

"Yeah, do you like it? I mean, you spent probably about eighty hours a week at it, right?"

"Not that much. Anymore." He thought for a moment. "I do. I like it. I wouldn't do anything else. Although—"

"Huh?"

Kevin gave him a short, sideways glance. "Although, you get to spent your entire day in your drawers. I can't imagine a better life."

"True that." He and Kevin clinked their glasses as the Sox took the field. "And sometimes Raye comes home during the middle of the day and—finally! You took all that time to get dressed as a peacock?"

For probably the millionth time in her life, Mina wondered why she had been cursed with such an idiot brother. She and Raye had abandoned the entire idea of putting her hair up, there being simply too much of it, and let it hang loose in waves. Raye's dress was completely modified: Makoto had helped them pull off the spaghetti straps and cut the sash into new, wider straps that they formed into a halter style around her neck. They had pulled off the embellishments on the bodice and covered it instead with peacock feathers, which is the first thing Mina's mind had gone to when she pulled the gown out of Raye's closet.

Right now, she was flushing under her makeup and wishing that a ceiling beam would fall down spontaneously and knock her brother out. Secondly, that Kevin looked very, very good in a tuxedo. And she was dressed as a peacock.

* * *

"So, what is this?" Mina hadn't stopped rubbing her hand against her seat's leather, too afraid to touch any of the knobs or gizmos in the interior lest she break something in this car that was undoubtedly worth more than her life's worth, several times over. She had already pressed a button that she had thought was the window and had the Thievery Corporation start playing somewhere near her head.

Kevin smiled, and she knew that one already, it was the one that came out right before he told a joke. "That's the passenger seat."

"I _know _that," she purred. "I meant the car. What is this?" Having no vehicle of her own, all Mina knew that it was small, and only fit two people, and looked very expensive and elegant and not at all like the beaters that usually parked on their street. Jason had made several painful whines of longing when he had seen it parked in front of the curb, and even Raye had stopped and stared, her eyes wide and her mouth open, and she wasn't even that into cars.

For some reason, he was uncomfortable admitting it. "It's a Lotus Evora."

"Lo-tus. Pretty. Flower car," she giggled. "I'd ask if I could drive it, but I can't drive a stick shift."

"I can teach you." His arm was very near hers; he had looked directly in her eyes and told her she was beautiful after she had buckled her seatbelt.

Mina wished they could skip the whole middle part of this night and go right to the part where he would kiss her. Or the part where she would jump into his lap in this tiny car and tear her dress off and take him to heaven.

Instead, she took her eyes off of him and stared at her lap. "No way, I'll destroy your car. Jason tried to teach me and I nearly killed his transmission, and that was on a fifteen-year old Honda that he bought off his friend for a thousand bucks. He nearly killed me for that."

"Give me your hand."

"Why?"

"Just give it to me." They were stopped at a red light a few blocks from the Helix. Mina stuck her right hand out.

"Your other hand." Kevin's practically dwarfed her own, and she felt a prickle of heat rise from her chest to her neck. For a moment he held it, rubbing the ball of his thumb against the delicate underside of her wrist, and then lowered it on to the gearshift. "Ready?"

"Are you kidding? No! I'm going to kill your car somehow, I know it."

"I'll help you. Are you ready? The light's about to turn green."

"NO! Seriously, Kevin, I'm going to break your car and you're going to hate me and I'll have to sell a kidney or something to get it fixed. Seriously, no!"

Too late: the light turned green, and suddenly the car was accelerating, the engine revving up. He kept his hand pressed on hers as he downshifted. Mina was nervous enough to scream, or throw up. She wondered briefly if this was the same car that Darien had vomited in.

"Good, here we go again." The gearshift was vibrating under her hand.

"Now you're going to try on your own. Just bring it straight down when I say to, OK?"

"NO! No no no no no no don't do that KEVIN!" His hand left hers. "OH MY GOD, you have to help me I'm really—"

"Now!"

She gasped and pulled the shaft down, a little too quickly, and the engine emitted a brief grinding noise. She shrieked and let go.

Kevin was unwisely watching her instead of the road as he laughed and grabbed her hand and repositioned it on the gearshift. She was laughing, too, her hair falling forward, almost hysterical. Her laughter was rapid and genuine, coming deep from her abdomen, and she leaned over with glee and gasped out: "Oh God! I told you I'd break it!"

It was at that moment, right before he had to break hard to avoid rear-ending a taxicab, when her eyes were shining and she laughed with total abandonment, that Kevin promised to do whatever it took to bring those moments of happiness to her again.

* * *

So they were back at the Helix, Mina noted nervously, back where they started, but this time she was here because _he_ invited her, and wanted her here, and she wasn't collecting a wad of cash at the end of this night, and she was wearing more than just lingerie and a trench coat.

However, she would be all right with taking her clothes off again at the end of the night. His, too.

There were some other people in formal wear milling around the hotel entrance; Mina stared at them through the car window, wondering what they were like, what they were wearing, and most importantly, if they were looking to buy some paintings.

Someone was knocking on the driver's window before the car even came to a complete stop. Kevin cracked the window an inch and barked out: "Give me a minute, would you?"

At first, Mina was slightly distressed about the way he spoke to valets, but the eyes peering back from the open window crack were clear and blue, expertly painted with silver dust and black eyeliner and surrounded by lashes so long and dark they had to be falsies. Two sets of fingers wiggled in, and a high, girlish voice squeaked, "Shut up and get out of the car, you pain. Or at least open the window some more! Jeez!"

Kevin muttered something unintelligible about fingerprints and swung the door open, shoving aside the person on the other side. Mina's door was opened by a valet, and when she looked over the roof of the car, she was greeted by a familiar face.

_Oh, GOD no._ "Darien?"

Darien's grin was so wide and satisfied that he was almost splitting his face in half keeping it up. "Mina! Fancy meeting you here! I heard you sold that behemoth painting to some poor sucker…ah, look! Here's the sucker himself."

Kevin was reddening, which Mina found adorable. "Shut up," he muttered.

"No worries, man, maybe you can cut it up into like, ten thousand little squares and use them as drink coasters or something. You actually got off easy; you should see the monstrosity I had to buy once. Actually, come to think about it, you have seen it. It's in the second guest bathroom, right across from the toilet. The one that makes it hard to pee without thinking that the thing in the painting is going to magically jump out and hack you to death with an axe."

Mina wished desperately that she had something heavier to throw full-force at Darien's head than the tiny baguette bag that Makoto had loaned her. Maybe if she maneuvered the right way, she could get one of her shoes off…

Her murder plot was interrupted by an impossibly petite girl with hair so light it was practically silver rushing up to her, clicking in four-inch heels underneath her sequined silver sheath. Her hair was pinned up loosely, revealing the giant star cluster diamond earrings, and Mina was suddenly terribly aware that her own jewelry was bought at street fairs and probably made of glass and fishing wire. Her dress was beautiful: strapless, slim, adorned with thousands of glittering silver pearl beads, a stunning column that reminded Mina that the peacock feathers on her own gown was held on with hot glue. The small girl's skin was so fresh and dewy that it seemed to sparkle pink and silver under the hotel lights, and her smile was wide and bright with genuine excitement as she grabbed Mina's hand.

She was absolutely enchanting. There was something familiar about her face…

"OH! I love your dress!" The girl reached out unabashedly and brushed the feathers on Mina's bodice, a diamond solitaire the size of a hailstone sitting on her fourth finger. "The color is absolutely amazing, I love the blue, it's so good on you! Darien!" she called suddenly. "This is the color we should paint the guest bathroom!"

Darien sauntered over, the shit-eating grin having never left his face, with Kevin trailing behind. "I don't know, dear, it may remind me of Mina standing there looking at me with criminal intent in her eyes. Mina, I don't think you've met, but this is my wife, Serena. Serena, Mina's a friend of mine from way back."

"Pleasure to meet you," the small girl—Serena—gushed, still clinging to Mina's hand. "Really, my brother's told me so much about you and I couldn't wait to meet you in person! I saw your painting! It's awesome!"

"Uh." She could barely get that much out. Kevin came from behind her.

"That would be me." He shrugged slightly, his face still red.

She couldn't believe it. The guy she was obsessing over, the one who was currently and potentially very successfully getting under her skin and into her panties was indirectly related to Darien, and had been for some time. Darien, her friend for years, who knew everything about her past; including picking her up at late hours in sketchy places, whilst in different levels of intoxication, sometimes sobbing hysterically. Including the times when she was flat broke and her heat was shut off again and she was too ashamed to tell her family. Including paying her doctors' bills when the aforementioned lack of heat would get her sick and she would have to go to the clinic with the transients and junkies in the middle of the night to get antibiotics.

Including the disaster that was Casey.

She straightened her spine. "Well, she made a better first impression than my brother."

Serena smiled and linked arms with her. "You look fabulous! We're going to have such a good time!"

* * *

The booze was good. Very, very good.

She was presently drilling her way through her third martini; the gin was so smooth that she probably could have chugged it like Kool-Aid, and she would have, too, just to deal with everyone _staring_ at her.

It had started with Serena introducing her to the rest of the board, a cluster of women with smooth, straight hair and black Lanvin sheaths, wearing gemstones that were worth probably millions of dollars.

"Lovely gown," one of them said to her, an older woman with a name like Wunny or Buffy or something. "Who is it?"

"Uh," Mina stuttered. "It's nothing. It was an old dress of my friend's that I took apart."

The Wunnys gave her short, condescending smiles, but Serena had squealed. "You _made _it? That's so fabulous!" She turned to the women. "Mina is my brother's girl. She's an artist so she's super-creative like that."

They had all smiled and nodded, barely able to conceal their disdain, while Mina was internally dealing with the new feeling that Serena's words had sent through her. _"Mina is my brother's girl." _

The second martini hadn't taken away that feeling yet. Or the stares. The third was getting her there.

Kevin came up from behind her again without her knowing; he seemed to be very good at that. One of his hands rested on the small of her back; she shivered at the light touch. "Having fun?" he said in her ear.

"Uh," she said through her smile. "I'm not really sure. How do you have fun at these things?"

"Easy. You just keep drinking until you forget that you're here."

"Oh, well then." She held up her now-empty martini glass. "In that case, I'm having a fabulous time."

"Good." He bent slightly, and suddenly his face was against hers, and he was kissing her softly.

They broke apart. Mina's heart was pounding so hard that it was practically constricting her throat. "Want another?" he asked.

"Kiss or drink?"

"I can do both." He kissed her again, with more heat and pressure, and didn't stop this time until someone cleared their throat behind them.

She pulled the olive out of her empty glass and held it up to his lips. "Like I said, _fabulous _time."

True to form, it wasn't long after being kissed by the object of her affection that Mina's night started turning to shit.

For one, the booze was very, very good. A little too good. Her head was starting to spin, and her inhibitions were definitely down, beaten, and left for dead by her hormones. She had grabbed Kevin's ass, which had startled him, and she had merely laughed in return. Every single thought that had floated through her mind for the past hour had been about how and when to fuck his brains out, and she was starting to sweat.

Secondly, she was beginning to molt. The heat from her increasingly intoxicated body and naturally occurring friction had rubbed some of the peacock feathers off. Darien helpfully pointed out just exactly where they were, noting gleefully that a great deal were stuck down Kevin's front.

The third strike came near the end of the evening, after all the back-patting and congratulating and picture taking was going on. Mina was deftly avoiding the cameras now that her dress was pretty much destroyed, when an older man wearing a Penguin tuxedo leaned in over her shoulder, his breath full of whisky. "Nice tits," he whispered, snaking one hand up and pinching her on the breast. "Would love to see them later."

In any other room, in any other situation, she would have belted him without a second thought, but then the thought ran through her head: who and what this guy was. He could be the police commissioner, or a politician, maybe someone Raye worked with, maybe Kevin's boss. The possibility of the old lech's power terrified her; he was definitely somebody important, he could ruin lives, and she was a nobody. Just a pretty face attached to a pretty body.

Serena must have seen something, because she was at Mina's side in a minute, elbowing the older man out of the way. "Are you OK?"

She was not OK: she was drunk, that was for sure, and tired, and humiliated, and scared. She was nobody.

But presently she was pale, and shaking a little, and close to tears. Serena barked out orders and pressed Mina's borrowed purse to her and ushered her outside. Kevin's forehead was furrowed with concern. "Mina, what happened? Are you all right?"

She took a deep breath. He looked furious. "I'm fine…I'm just tired."

"You mean drunk," Darien cackled. His wife cracked him on the arm with every ounce of strength in her tiny body. "Ow!"

"Do you want to leave?" Kevin asked, taking her face in his hands and lifting her chin so that she had to look into his eyes. She was afraid to look at him, so she lowered her eyes and nodded.

She barely spoke on the way home, afraid that whatever she wanted to say was wrong, and would just add to the tension. He pulled in front of her apartment. Mina noticed that the light was on in Jason's workspace; he was probably still awake. Kevin exited the car before she did and opened her door.

"Mina." She turned to him. "I don't believe that you're OK."

"I very much am, I'm sorry." He didn't look like he believed her, either. "Please, I'm sorry, it's nothing. I'm just acting like an idiot."

"I don't feel comfortable ending the night like this."

He didn't look comfortable either; she couldn't leave him like this. "Can you come over tomorrow? Like, about seven?"

Kevin nodded. "I'll be here."

She managed a small smile. "You can dress down, too. Like, no neckwear, unless you really feel like it."

"May I walk you upstairs?"

"No, it's OK. My brother's awake, anyway." She brushed some errant feathers off of his front. "You can kiss me again, though."

His hair was glowing silver under the sodium glare of the streetlights, and he was not gentle when he brought his face to hers. She pressed her body against his, which was hard pretty much everywhere except his lips. His hands brushed down her back, his fingers splayed. He broke away first, his gray eyes dark like chips of stone.

"If I don't stop," he said, his voice hoarse. "I won't be able to."

Mina brushed her thumb against his lips; he took her hand and kissed it. "I'll be here at seven tomorrow. No neckwear."

"I'll see you then," she responded, gathering her skirts. "Good night."

"Good night."

Jason was at his work station when she entered their apartment, clicking on dual monitors with ipod buds stuck in his ears. He pulled them out when he saw her press her back against the door and slide down to the floor, her head tucked down into her arms.

"Hey." He was at her side in three strides. "Mina. What's wrong?"

It all came out in an emotional geyser: the stares, the smirks, the helpless, lost, alienated feeling of total alienation in visiting a world so unlike her own. She purposely left out the part about the old guy groping her; there was no reason to start drama, and wake Raye up. "Jay, it was just weird. Like, any other girl would shave their head and crawl to date a guy like this, but the way he lives is just so different from where I live. I wasn't comfortable the entire night." She sighed. "OK, I lied. I had fun in the car when it was just him and me and he was letting me do the shifting…"

Jason sat down next to her. "Wow. He let you touch something in his car that's not the seatbelt? Jesus.

Listen, did you feel weird because of Kevin, or because of other people? Because he can't control other people, you know."

"I know. And it wasn't him, it was just like, what if that's how his is, how he _really_ is, and I just haven't seen it yet?"

Jason ran his hands through his unruly blonde hair. "Really, Mina? Do you really believe that?"

She looked at the floor again. "No."

"Well, then stop the neuroses, OK? You're just dating a guy, one person, and not being formally introduced into high society. Just focus on that and block out all the other bullshit."

Mina lifted her head and smiled at her brother; he really got it sometimes. "You're right."

"I know I'm right. And hell, if you don't want him, I'll gladly take over for you."

"Jason? Thank you."

He helped her off the floor. "Yeah, I talk big, but he's still not good enough for my little sister." He playfully pinged his on the nose. "No one is."

Reviews are welcome!


	3. Chapter 3: 35,000 minus 6

Warning: This chapter has adult content. Nothing graphic, but consider this fair warning.

Also, i don't own Sailor Moon.

CHAPTER THREE: 35,000 – 6 = 34,994 good times

On the drive home, Kevin chewed one of his cuticles to a bloody pulp and nearly flattened a hapless pedestrian as he made an illegal left turn. He took both incidents as a sign to do nothing more once home than to chuck his clothes to the floor, take out his contacts, pop an Ambien, and crash into bed.

He awoke many hours later, face down, when the sun was out and his sister was standing on his bed in bare feet and kicking him repeatedly in the side. Briefly, he wondered if he had been sent back in time, when this sort of situation was a weekly occurrence: Serena usually wanting a ride somewhere early on a Saturday morning, and him sleeping off a hangover.

"Kevin! Wake up! Come on!" One of her bony feet connected with his right kidney, causing a brief patch of sharp pain, and he instinctively grabbed one of her ankles and yanked her down. She shrieked as she bounced off of his legs.

"Ow! We're not ten anymore, you idiot!" Serena hollered, forgetting that she been the instigator.

Kevin pulled a pillow over his head, instantly regretting the day that he gave her a key to his place.

"Hey, wake up, we brought lox," Serena continued, shaking his motionless body. "It's like, noon, anyway, and—wait, how many sleeping pills did you take?"

"One," he mumbled, barely. Why wouldn't she just go away?

"Oh great," she breathed. "You weigh like five thousand pounds when you're sleeping."

"Go away."

"No. Darien's making coffee. Plus you kind of need to shower."

She was not going to go away. He pushed himself into a sitting position and tried to focus through the heavy fog in his brain. Serena finally exited, and after a shower, he found both her and Darien in his kitchen, sitting at the island and eating lox and bagels.

"Sunshine!" Darien bellowed, holding up a flat object. "I brought you a present."

Kevin rubbed one of his dry, aching eyes underneath his glasses. It was a painting, sort of abstract, with a black, misshapen figure with hundreds of teeth strangling a wooden tent pole…or something. Maybe he was holding it upside down. "What is this?"

"THAT, my friend, is the masterpiece that was hanging in our guest bathroom. We figured that since now you're intimately involved with the artist in question, you'd rather have it here terrifying you instead of causing evacuation problems to guests in our house."

Kevin grunted and pushed it aside, reaching for a cup of coffee. Darien raised an eyebrow at his wife, and continued. "So…Mina, huh? Didn't take you for an art lover."

Serena swallowed a gigantic mouthful of bagel before machine-gunning statements at them. "She's so cute. I like her. I like how she makes her own clothes. Her hair is really shiny. I feel really bad about what happened to her. Are you going to see her again?"

Both men turned to her. "What happened to her?" Kevin said slowly. He knew something wasn't right when he dropped her off.

"You guys really didn't see?" Serena looked to first her husband, and then her brother, and wondered why she was surrounded by such rubes. "For real?"

"Serena, shut up and tell me what happened!"

She exhaled. "Well first, Wenny Gunderson was really rude about her dress…"

Darien barked out a short laugh. "That's balls. Wenny Gunderson has enough Botox in her face to paralyze an elephant seal."

"Well, anyway, after that, Wenny and Lindy Hewitt went around telling everyone that she was probably a call girl, or a college student that Kevin was slumming with, even though I already told everyone that she was an artist, and get this! Russell Thomas actually has a painting of hers that his son bought him! Isn't that neat?"

Kevin dropped into a chair. "Why don't you tell me any of this while it's happening so I could do something?"

"So you could do what, get all rude and yelly and cause a scene at a charity event where we're trying to raise money? Plus embarrass your date? She was really freaked out when Henry Berman felt her up, that jerk. He's really getting out of control when he drinks."

Kevin was motionless for a long moment, causing Darien to glance at him nervously. Finally he let out the breath he was holding in. "That's why she was so upset. I'm a fucking idiot."

"Well," Serena said. "I think she was too ashamed to tell you because she was starting to cry. She had a pretty bad night."

His eyes darkened behind his glasses. "Henry Berman is fucking dead."

Serena rolled her eyes. "OK, whatever, Mr. Hardass. Henry Berman is the lieutenant governor. Are you just going to run up and punch him in the face the next time you see him?"

"Yes."

Serena's expression hardened, proving that her brother wasn't the only one in the family with stones. "Leave him to me, OK? I won't let him get away with it, I promise.

Now," she said, settling back and piling up another bagel. "Are you going to see Mina again?"

"Yeah, tonight. She told me to wear something casual."

Serena paused her slathering of the new bagel, and Darien just started outright laughing. "OK, that means we're going to have to go shopping, now, too. Go get dressed. Oo! And you should bring her flowers to say that you're sorry you dragged her into such a viper pit. I'll clean up." She bit her bagel as Kevin left to get dressed, and turned to her husband. "Honestly. All those stupid women were just jealous of her. I wish they would just let me organize the ball by myself. Then I could stop having it at that tacky hotel." She chewed slowly. "Darien?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Is Mina good enough for my brother?"

Darien smiled and pulled her to his body, in the corner where she always fit so well. "We've been friends for a long time. I've seen her through a lot of shit, and she's always kept her head."

"You didn't invite her to our wedding."

"Baby, we didn't invite anyone to our wedding except for your parents, Kevin, and Amy."

"Oh, yeah." She cocked her head. "You didn't answer my question."

"I know," Darien said. "And I'll tell you: I think she is, but I don't know if she thinks she is."

Serena's face fell. "Oh no. Why?"

"It's complicated, sweetie. Everyone's not as good and honest as you think they are. Mina's had to struggle sometimes, and pull through some real unpleasant crap, and people haven't always been kind to her, especially people she loved." _Especially that infected anal wart that she almost married._ "I hope that she will realize just how awesome and talented she is, and that she is any person's equal and many people's better." He glanced back down the hallway. "Maybe Kevin can help her with that."

*******************************************************

* * *

If there was any good thing to come out of her night of moral embarrassment, it was four sketches and an acrylic with slashing strokes born out of pure anger. One of them may be good enough to come out at the next showing,.

Mina used her cheek to hold her phone to her shoulder as she put some finishing touches on her painting. The white cat watched her paint from her bed, yawning occasionally.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Makoto had parroted this line several times, like Mina was going to give a different answer if she kept asking.

"I don't—I told you, I felt bad and weird enough just being there, and then adding to the drama would just make it worse."

Makoto sighed heavily on the other end. "Maybe you should tell him tonight."

"Maybe. I'll see how it goes."

"What are you going to do tonight?"

"Ugh, I don't even know yet. I guess we'll just wing it and see what happens. There's a new installation down near the canal but I don't know if it will be too weird for him. Although he is getting very brave."

"Um, Mina?"

"Yeah?"

"It's six o'clock already. Didn't you say he was coming at seven?"

"Shit!" She hurriedly got off the phone, and ran to the bathroom, wiping her hands clean on an old t-shirt.

_Oh God, what to wear?_ She stood in front of her closet, taking a mental inventory of what he had seen her in already: a makeshift ball gown, sexy shoes and a killer dress, an artfully mismatched ensemble complete with borrowed ankle boots, and, well, black underwear. _Technically, if I stretch it a bit, I could consider this a fourth date._

It was getting colder at night; she picked a short plum dress, opaque tights and Raye's ankle boots, which she hadn't given back yet, a fitted gray jacket, and her black fedora. Lots of mascara. Small earrings.

"You need a scarf," Raye said from the couch, where she was curled up with a book and a glass of wine. "Take the one on the hook on my door."

"You're the best," she called, trotting away.

"Of course I am. I didn't mention that you're wearing my boots again."

Kevin was ridiculously punctual; he knocked on their door exactly at seven, when she was still shoving wallets and keys and other detritus into her handbag on the kitchen table. He was wearing jeans, which was a new development, and a shirt and jacket, and looked downright trendy. "Hi."

She raised her eyebrows approvingly. "No neckwear!"

"Ah, thank you. I had someone dress me." He swallowed. "You look beautiful."

Mina gave him a teasing look. "Was it Jesse?"

"No, but if I had to do it again, he'd probably be at the top of my list. He let me know exactly uh, what improvements he would make to me when I gave him a ride home.

It was actually my sister."

"Well, she did a great job." She grabbed her bag. "Bye, Raye!"

Raye lifted a hand without looking up from her book. "Bye, kids! Stay out of trouble. Don't get my boots dirty!"

***********************************************

* * *

"You first," Mina said, as they exited the Chinese restaurant and stepped out into the street. She held up the folded fortune from the center of a cookie, the red printed writing on the outside.

Kevin stretched his shoulders. "You really want to know how many people I've slept with?"

"You really want to know how many _I_ slept with? This is important information that I have to share with my friends so that they can judge you."

He shrugged. "Count of three?" The streets were busy on this Saturday night; they joined the pack of pedestrians waiting for their chance to stampede across the crosswalk.

"Three!" She unfolded the paper, looked up with him, and started laughing disbelievingly.

He was also staring at his strangely, then smiled in that way he did. "You've been busy."

"You haven't!" she snickered. "This isn't physically possible!"

They kept walking shoulder to shoulder along the dark sidewalk. "Neither is thirty five thousand. That's, what, averaging more than three a day for the last ten years? You would have died of dehydration or something."

She held up her paper again. "I don't think you're telling me the truth either. How can you sleep with negative six people?"

"It's a lot easier than thirty five thousand. Did you even take a day off for Christmas or anything?"

She hit him lightly on the arm. "Negative six? How does that work?"

"So between us, we've got a total of 34,994." He smiled again, burying the fortune in his jacket pocket. "Where are we going?"

"Ah, over this way. It's a surprise. Because you look so good tonight."

Kevin's face reddened; Mina found that she really liked seeing that reaction out of him. "Thank you. Maybe I'll make it to out of the negative numbers."

Now it was her turn to blush.

Mina led him down the dark streets, the crowd growing younger and trendier with each cross street. A small crowd had gathered outside of a warehouse-like building; those milling outside smoking cigarettes and drinking out of paper bags, most wearing scarves and fitted clothing and ironic hats and t-shirts and glasses. Kevin was relieved to see that this art crowd wasn't as strange in appearance as the one in the gallery the previous week. Actually, everybody was posing and milling, but they actually appeared fairly normal; he didn't feel so out of place this time.

"This guy has been setting up this installation for a while," Mina said after they entered, waving at someone she knew across the floor. They were wandering through a maze of boxes, painted black and gray and silver, and piled in stacks up to the ceiling. The rafters were exposed in the warehouse, and the floor was uncovered cement. Several people were taking pictures, but more were winding their way through the displays and critiquing with their friends. Some sort of slow, dreamy music was playing in the background. "How does it make you feel?"

Kevin was staring up at the boxes, wondering if there was anything inside anchoring them down so that they didn't come crashing down on everyone's heads. "Honestly? Like I should be driving a forklift."

Mina's blue eyes shone. "Actually," she said, laughing, "So do I."

He waited until she took her hand out of her pocket as they walked, and when she finally did, to smooth a piece of golden yellow hair behind her ear, he reached over and clasped it in his own. It was small, and warm and slightly calloused. And, Kevin had noticed, never entirely clean; she usually carried her vocation with her through paint smudges on the insides of her wrists, or charcoal ground into her nail beds, or small nicks from an X-acto knife, the cuts held together with super glue or bandaids.

She smiled shyly, her eyes falling to the floor, and squeezed softly.

* * *

"I can't see you being anything but a good boy your entire life. That's why you're so successful, right? You go to school, make good grades, go to Harvard Business and now you're…well, I'm not sure how much you have, but I know it's a lot more than me." They were wandering outside now, checking out the exhibits in the back, which were actually getting more creative in Mina's eyes, and weirder in Kevin's.

Kevin cleared his throat before continuing. "Uh, not really."

"Why? What happened? You have to spill now; don't be embarrassed. My brother's been arrested for public intoxication he's still a productive member of society. There's no judgment here. What did you do? Overfeed your sister's pony?"

They passed a trio of pregnant women, their stomachs exposed and painted purple: an interesting medium for an artist who was probably out of ideas. Kevin did a double take, then tried not to stare. "That too. I, uh, actually got busted with, well, really a lot of drugs and got kicked out of prep school."

"What!" Her hat slipped off of her head and she swiped it off of the ground in a single motion. "'Really a lot of drugs' is like how much drugs?"

"Enough to get me arrested."

"Oh my god! How old were you?"

"I was fifteen. It was really stupid, on my part. I know everyone who's gotten caught says this, but it really wasn't mine.

You see, Zach, my friend Zach? He's an interesting guy, absolutely brilliant, but when we were freshmen he was going through this obnoxious white Rastafarian phase, or maybe he read the _Communist Manifesto_ or something that year. He was looking for an excuse to break off the shackles of his middle-class, suburban, Jewish existence and live like a true follower of Jah or something because he decided to stick it to the man, which means his parents, and was stocking up on every illegal pharmaceutical he could get his hands on. "

"What kind of drugs?"

"Oh, God, everything. Coke, E, acid, an eighth, Ritalin, Oxycontin, it was all in my locker."

"That's enough for intent, isn't it?" she groaned.

"Well, unfortunately for me, yes. Anyway, Zach would have been screwed seven ways from Sunday; he was a scholarship student, didn't have the, uh, resources I had to keep himself out of jail, so I just let everyone believe that it was me. Zach nearly blew it, though, I had to punch him in the mouth to keep him from confessing. He said he would never leave a comrade to take the fall for him.

Like I said, he was a confused kid. You should have seen his dreadlocks."

Mina shook her head. "So what happened?"

"Well, lucky for me, my father kept me out of juvie, but he couldn't keep me in that school, even though his good friend was chairman of the board."

He shrugged again. "So I went to public school. So did Zach, actually. He said it was the least he could do for me for saving his ass. I still don't think his mother has forgiven me for that. She thinks that I talked him into it so that I wouldn't have to go alone."

"Well, everything worked out anyways, right?" Mina asked.

"It wasn't bad," Kevin admitted. "I mean, all of my friends thought it was the most humiliating thing that could happen to me, and that I would go crazy and drop out or something, but it was just…normal. Everyone I met was pretty normal, and at first I was pretty lost. It was the first school where I didn't have to wear a uniform, and I had to eat in a cafeteria and share desks and books for the first time, and everyone was treated like a student, not a little prince in training, but I got used to it quickly. I played football and ran for student council and just did normal high school things." He stopped and thought for a second. "I think that's what turned me into a human being. All my old friends from prep school…I mean, their lives are fine, on the surface. They're all rich and powerful and all that, but when you talk to them now, they're…" He trailed off, thought for a bit. "The could care less about people they think are below them. They yell at waiters and old people and cheat on their wives and girlfriends and are pretty much alcoholics. They are miserable people with too much power." He exhaled tiredly, and Mina wondered if this was the first time he had admitted something like this out loud.

"I'm glad I'm not like them."

Mina leaned against him. "I'm glad you're not, too." They reached a wall, suddenly in the middle of the exhibit, with a huge dragon painted on it, with something that looked like paper and sand mixed in with the paint. She reached out and traced the textures, her knuckles flecked with old paint that the Lava soap hadn't been able to remove. "Interesting," she murmured, almost to herself. The mural was coming apart in her mind: she was removing the green parts and filling them in with gray washes instead, the dragon twisting around, parts of his body starting to stripe. She watched as he repositioned, his yellow eye shining and terrible, and settled into a crouch as the imaginary brushed in her hands redrew the clouds he sat on.

Kevin watched this process. Her eyes squinted and went distant, seeing things that he could not: her fingers moving along the lines as if she could pick them off and reposition them. Something was being created at that moment, all in her imagination and fingertips.

He reached out and lifted her hand from the painting, bringing it to him, and by extension, bringing her to him. She faced him now, looking directly into his eyes, still shaking off the clouds in her head, her face expressionless, as if waking from deep sleep.

Slowly, he backed her up against the painted wall, his eyes never leaving hers, stormy gray on soft blue. His body pressed against hers, increasing the pressure little by little.

He touched her face softly, running his fingers against her cheek, then the curve of her jawbone, and using two fingers under her chin, pulled her face up and placed a kiss on her lips. Mina returned it, hard, pressing her mouth fully against his, her body stretched upward to make up the height difference, and let the waves of desire wash over her body like an electric current. She pressed her hands against his hard stomach, feeling the bumps of the muscles underneath, and suddenly she was grinding herself against his legs, the heat and want of her body taking over her mind.

Someone spotted them and yelled: "Hey, look at those people making out against Jonah's mural! Get a room, you two!"

They broke apart, Kevin's face red again, but Mina was completely unembarrassed. She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him down, her eyes dead serious. "Take me out of here. Now."

*****************************

* * *

They ended up folded together again on the sidewalk, and somehow Kevin managed to hail a cab, the cabbie giving them a long, distasteful stare as Mina practically jumped in after and pulled Kevin's body to her, planting hard kisses on his neck.

Kevin pulled something out of his pocket and pushed it through the slits in the clear plastic partition. "For your trouble," he gasped, as Mina pushed him against the door and attacked him again.

The cabbie pulled it through, checked out the numeral in the corner of the bill, and raised his eyebrows. "Thank you, my friend. You can make as many babies as you want to back there."

Mina giggled through another kiss as her hat was knocked off. She grabbed his head, steadying herself. His eyes were glassy, and such a dark gray that she took a moment to remind herself to try and mix the shade later. She kissed him, gentle and long, feeling the heat from his mouth, and moments later they were entangled again, breathing and writhing against the cramped backseat.

The cabbie cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt, my friend, but where am I taking you?"

Mina surfaced and blurted her address. Kevin raised his eyebrows, but she shook her head. "It's all right."

Her apartment was dark when they stumbled in the front door. The refrigerator was humming softly, and the white cat was perched on the countertop, his eyes narrowed as if he was challenging either of them to move him.

Mina led him by the hand through the darkness to her room, but before opening the door, she was suddenly embarrassed about what he might see. "It's a little messy."

Kevin didn't respond, but pressed her against the door, his fingers brushing her hair away from her neck. Mina's breath caught in her throat. He looked at her, briefly, then continuing tracing her body like she had done earlier with the mural, the gentle pressure from his fingertips sending ripples of pleasure through her body.

She was the one who pulled him down to her bed, shoving a few sketchbooks and cosmetics to the floor, slightly apologetic that she hadn't made the bed that morning. He settled on top of her, careful not to crush, and chose to speak when she was unbuttoning his shirt. "Are you—we don't—"

"Shut up. Kiss me." Her voice was firm.

It was a poor decision to wear so many layers, she thought in retrospect. Her dress zipped up the side, and even with her burlesque training, there was no way to remove it in any way that would be even remotely sexy. She had to sit up and wiggle it over her shoulders, and then lift it over her head. Kevin was smirking at her. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, his eyes laughing. They turned serious very quickly as he pulled her to him. Mina's eyes fluttered shut, and she shrugged quickly out of her bra straps.

The rest of their clothes were yanked off and thrown on the floor. Mina went to town, wanting to touch, to taste every part of him. Her hair fanned over their faces, she used one hand to move it away as she kissed around his eyes, relishing the feathery touch of his eyelashes against her lips.

She gasped as his fingers went inside her, and again, with a more intense reaction when he entered her.

He stopped moving. "What's wrong?" Slants of light from the street illuminated his face; his eyes were tight and hard as if he were in pain.

She shifted underneath him, testing the waters, letting her body stretch to accommodate him. "Nothing," she breathed, rolling her hips again, causing him to gasp sharply. "I—you're just—bigger—I'm not used to—"

"Do you want me to stop?"

She reached around the back of his head and pulled his face down to hers, until their foreheads were pressing, and crushed her mouth against his. "Don't stop."

He started off gently, probably trying to keep from hurting her again, and she rocked with him, building intensity. Her skin was hot, and she could vaguely sense that she was tearing his back up with her fingernails as she writhed and sweated and, once past a certain point, moaned his name, begged him to go harder, bit his ear and pulled her knees up to let him in deeper.

His eyes never left hers.

But suddenly he squeezed them shut as his mouth dropped open slightly, and she knew he was close, and trying to hold off until she finished. One of his hands clamped around her arm hard enough to bruise; he was closer than she expected. "Please," she gasped, pushing her body up against him: forehead, breasts, arms encircling his body, ankles crossed around his back. She pressed against him, harder, feeling her body squeeze around him, then a tidal wave ripped across her, shocking every nerve, tensing and releasing faster than she could process, stealing her breath so that she could only cry out when she was coming down and her head was rushing with pleasure.

Nothing could compare with this.

He couldn't hold back any more; she felt him shove forward as his body stiffened. He didn't make a sound as he shuddered, releasing into her, and then exhaling as he dropped his head to her shoulder and tried to catch his breath.

It took a while. They lay entwined, the air cold now against Mina's skin. Her eyes were closing as he pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. She smiled in the dark.

"Negative seven," she whispered, her voice hoarse. She felt a gentle shake as he laughed softly.

"Negative five," he corrected. She didn't have enough energy to respond, but dropped off into sleep with Kevin's arm around her.

************************

* * *

His mind woke before his eyes opened, slowly: first aware of the sunlight warming his face, then of the pocket of warmth that his body heat had created under the covers. Then he remembered that there was supposed to be another body there, one that had rocked him to the core last night so intensely that he couldn't believe he had enough testosterone left to wake up with alarm cock. His hand reached out to find her, and when he felt nothing but empty mattress, he opened his eyes.

Mina was sitting in a wooden chair next to the bed, stark naked, frowning at him as she drew on a sketchpad with a charcoal pencil. Her legs were splayed up on the bed as she balanced the pad on her knees, giving him a clear view all the way up. He couldn't help but look there first.

"Gah," she muttered. "You're awake."

He blinked painfully; after sleeping in his contacts, it felt like they were scraping the insides of his eyelids with hot, rusty nails. "I'm sorry."

"Nah," she smiled suddenly, pulling out the paintbrush that had been holding her hair up. It fell in a blond curtain around her shoulders as she popped the brush handle between her teeth and started tying it back again. "I knew I didn't have a lot of time before you woke up." She glanced down, realized that she had been flashing herself for his full view, and for a moment, looked as if she were going to put her legs down and flush with embarrassment. The look passed, and instead she smiled wider and leaned back, spreading open further. "Hi."

Seeing her completely naked body in full daylight, curving and soft and unblemished, was urging him to pull her to the bed and trying to beat last night's score by at least one. Morning wood was on his side.

Kevin's brain couldn't stop singing as he exited her building, not that he was actively trying to stop it. _I got laid. And how! _

_Stop it, that's disrespectful, _he thought to himself. His brain had a differing opinion.

_Shut up fool! Can't stop won't stop aw yeah damn._

He wondered why his internal monologue sounded just like Darien.

The cabbie from the night before was waiting outside the building. "Hello my friend," he said, approaching Kevin with Mina's fedora that she had been wearing last night. "Your lady friend, she left her hat in my cab. I brought it back after my shift."

Kevin took it from him. "Thanks, you didn't have to do that." He dug around in his pocket for some cash to give the guy, when an idea suddenly hit him. "Hey, you work night shift?"

"Yes, my friend. For two years now."

"It must get dangerous sometimes."

"Yes, my friend. No matter, I am lucky to have a job to support my wife and daughter and lazy son-in-law."

Kevin raised his eyebrows. "Would you be interested in working for me?"

*****************

* * *

Mina woke up alone.

It was nothing new. She spent a few extra minutes burrowing under the covers, pointing her toes and stretching her sore calf muscles, and finally crawled out, naked, and stumbled for the bathroom. She needed a shower, stat.

Five months since she had been in his life, and Kevin's apartment still looked like a realtor was going to burst through the door at any moment and start showing buyers around with a tape measure. It was bigger and nicer than any place she had set foot in, with maybe the exception of Darien's penthouse, with huge windows that were lit up at night with the city lights. She was, however, a bit dismayed to learn that he saw nothing wrong with bare walls, minimal furniture, and nothing more personal that a toothbrush. The bedroom was bare except for the bed, which she couldn't be mad at, since she never knew she was in love with memory foam until now, a bureau, and for some odd reason, a painting that she had sold Darien a while back that was quite ghastly in retrospect.

The master bathroom was a bit better, mostly because she had slowly been filling it with her own toiletries, including a baby bamboo plant that she had made from a cutting of one of her own bigger ones, and a soap dish that Jesse had made for her as a birthday gift one year. Sighing, she cleared away the empty beer bottles that tended to accumulate in the shower, then turned on the water and started washing away the smudges of charcoal that for once, was not on her fingers, but smeared over most of her body. She would have to wash the sheets later.

Last night they were laying in bed, doing nothing of importance, but was significant since they were doing it together. Kevin had his glasses on, and was reading through some papers. Every once in a while he would glance up at her, her fingers black with charcoal pencil.

"What are you drawing?" He reached over and ran his fingers across her bare foot. She shivered.

"You."

"Can I see?"

"No."

"Why?" His hand traveled up her calf.

"Because I'm not finished."

"I don't care." She handed him the pad, and his jaw dropped when he saw what she had been working on. "How long were you working on this?"

"I don't know, maybe a half an hour? That's why the shading isn't done on the right side."

He looked at her again. "To hell with the shading. This is incredible." She had drawn him, a rush job by her standards, but astonishingly realistic, her shading tight enough to capture the light glinting off his hair and eyelashes.

She was giving him a wary smile. "Why are you looking at me like that? I told you I wasn't done! That's why your ear looks so two-dimensional."

He was still for a while, letting her finish drawing his ear, watching her furrow her brow and use some sort of stubby instrument to help with blending. "Can I draw you, too?"

"Can you even draw?" she laughed, picking a pad off the ground and handing it to him. "There's a number one pencil in there. It's soft enough to do some shading."

She could have handed him a crayon for all the good it did. His sketch was over in minutes.

"Let me see." He flipped it over. Mina burst into laughter: he had drawn a stick figure, with a bow stuck in the bald head and round cartoon breasts. A speech bubble hovered above the head, reading: _Kevin sucks at drawing!_

She dropped her materials to the floor and crawled next to him. "But he's good at other things."

He picked up the pencil again and made an adjustment. Another character was speaking off the page in another speech bubble: _Like what?_

She pushed the pad to the side and hovered over him, her hair falling around her shoulders. "He can show me."

Mina shivered at the memory as she scrubbed her hair. He had shown her, in many different positions, and she had the teeth marks on her left breast to prove it. Actually, that was kind of sore; he had gotten a little overexcited once she had started giving orders, but she was pretty sure that the words "Bite me" weren't to be taken literally in those kinds of situations. Perhaps he was getting back at her for leaving those marks on his neck last week.

He had left early, shortly after dawn, like he usually did, and probably wouldn't return until that evening. Twice he had gone on business trips, which were usually lonely for a time, but the reunions were quite pleasurable. And naked.

She cleaned up and pulled her clothes off the floor. She was running late; Jesse would start calling and yelling at her any minute. No time for makeup: she would have to explain away the dark circles around her eyes.

Priyam was waiting with the car downstairs on the street. "Good morning Miss Aino," he said pleasantly. "Mr. Chaston thought you might be running late and asked me to take you to your meeting. We'll go now?" He opened the door for her.

He knew her too well already.

*********

* * *

True enough, Jesse was parked at a table at Grinder's, sipping the foam off of his latte and scowling. "God, I thought you'd never get here. Nice outfit. Didn't know wrinkled was the new look for spring."

Mina yawned. "Sorry, I had a late night."

"Oh, is that what they are calling multi-hour sex marathons these days? Your shirt is inside out."

She glanced down: it was. "Shit. Why are you in such a bad mood?"

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I haven't gotten laid in a month and a half and I'm just jealous of you and your perfect, sexy boyfriend that still hasn't moved _Victory_, by the way. Although I can't say that it's hurting you any." He opened a binder and slid an envelope to her. "Two more sold this week, including_ Pleco_."

"Really?" Mina opened the envelope and checked the amount on the checks inside. "That one was practically growing mold."

"Really," Jesse said. "_Victory_ has a 'sold' tag hanging on it, people see that it's in demand, that you're in demand, and suddenly you're the new hot artist on the scene and everyone wants a piece of you. It's like, the basis for our entire society. Do you think people actually want iphones and Hummers and velour tracksuits? Hello! They want to have what everyone else does. I don't. I just want your boyfriend. Is he queer yet?"

Mina dropped her hands to her lap and thought a moment. "This is really happening."

"What is?"

"Everything." She looked at him. "Everything in my life is suddenly really not sucking. I can't remember a time when everything just seemed to work in my favor." She squirmed in her seat. "I wonder how long it will last."

"Stop with the negative! Can you just enjoy your success and your sickeningly happy relationship without thinking that everything's going to fall to shit?"

"That's the thing. Everything in my life usually does fall to shit eventually."

"Please. Cut. The. Fucking. Bullshit!" He grabbed her hand. "Mina, I know you've had a lot of crap happen to you. I saw your relationship with that…creature crash and burn and you trying to dig your way out of that. Please stop thinking that all of these good things happening to you is the exception and not the rule."

She sighed. "I know you're right, but I don't want to listen because it puts me out of my comfort zone."

"Well, at least you're honest."

Mina pulled his latte cup over and took a sip when she noticed the small, icy blond pop in the front door, carrying a briefcase half the size of her body. She waved. "Oh, there's Serena. Hey!"

Serena smiled and pulled a chair up. "Hi! I'm Serena!"

Jesse was utterly enthralled. "Why, hello you little ball of sunshine! Love the Louboutins!"

Serena giggled. "Thanks! I have to wear heels all the time or else I'm really short. I got the short gene in our family."

"This is Jesse," Mina gestured, internally grumbling that Serena was dressed to the nines on a Tuesday morning, and she was wearing last night's clothes with an extra side of wrinkles. "Jesse, this is Serena. Kevin's sister."

Jesse jumped like he had been just run through with an electric current. "You're his sister? Oh, honey, style runs in your family."

Mina groaned: Jesse was really laying it on thick for his audience. However, Serena looked rather flattered as she smoothed her hair down.

Jesse continued. "So, if you don't mind me asking, sweetie, I know this one here and your brother have a thing going, but growing up, did he leave any hint or suggestion that he might, how do I put this? Prefer popsicles to donuts, if you catch my meaning?"

Mina sunk her head to the table, wishing that a bottomless pit would suddenly open in the middle of the floor that she could chuck Jesse into. Or not a bottomless pit. Maybe a pit filled with church ladies and professional wrestling fans and polyester clothing; that would be more like Jesse's version of hell.

Serena started giggling uncontrollably. "Um, I don't mind you asking, and no, I don't think so. I found the porn folder on his computer once, and there was no, uh, popsicle-loving in it. Well, actually there was, but it was donuts that loved the popsicles. And some donuts that loved other donuts. But nothing that was popsicles only."

Jesse scowled. "That was my last attempt. I give up! I'll find some other straight guy to convert. Ladies, enjoy your lunch. Mina, I'll see you later. We need something to fill the blank wall. And just between me and you and Little Ms. Bergdorf Goodman's here, some other gallery is going to call and ask for one of your works to hang."

"Which other gallery?"

"One that had fake fetuses in jars. I'll tell them you're out of town."

"Thanks, Jesse."

Serena was smiling at her. "Fake fetuses?"

"Oh, yeah, I was considering giving one to Darien for Christmas since he loved my painting so much that he gave it to Kevin. Anyway," she opened her bag and pulled out a sketchpad. "Here's what I threw together from what you sent me. I didn't start working on the story, yet, I just wanted to see what you thought of the design before I went crazy." She spread some loose pages out, head sketches of a long-lashed girl wearing a crown.

Serena studied them for a long time. "These are beautiful," she breathed. "But a little too happy. She's smiling in most of them."

"I can fix that. You're going to keep the ending to the story? The princess is still waiting in her palace on the Moon for her prince to return? All the princesses of her court fade away and turn into jewels? It's kind of sad for a children's book, don't you think?"

The smaller girl never took her eyes off the pad. "That's all I can see right now, for her and him, and the other princesses. Maybe they haven't told me their whole story, yet, but maybe they will. And then I'll write it for them." She finally looked up. "I know that sounds a little crazy, but these stories, it's like I don't really write them, you know? I see parts of the story, and then I report them. Sorry, I know I sound like a lunatic."

Mina crossed her arms and leaned across the table. "Then I'm crazy, too, because I know exactly what you mean."

"Is that how you felt when you made that big painting? The one that my brother bought?"

"Yes."

"Then you do know what I mean." Serena sighed and settled back in her chair. "So what were you up to last night? Your shirt is inside out."

* * *

She received a text message right as she stepped to the sidewalk. _Are you busy? _

He never used any shortcuts, she thought as she sipped her takeout coffee. _Not right now. Would u like a visitor?_

A few seconds later. _ OK. Good day today._

Ah, that meant that deal or merger or whatever he was stressing about that week had gone flawlessly. He would be in much better mood for at least a couple of days. Maybe he would even take a day off.

She accumulated some stares on the way to the financial district, but that really couldn't be helped; everyone else was wearing some variation of the same suit and tie, and walking really fast and shooting her dirty looks when she stopped to snap a picture of some interesting graffiti that someone had scrawled on a bus shelter. She pulled her scarf tighter as she leaned against the frigid wind.

His company's building was one of the newest, and tallest in the downtown area. The lobby was crowded with suits, running back and forth, barking into cell phones or tapping away on Blackberries. It actually had a lot of potential, she thought as she waited for the elevator. There was at least forty feet to the ceiling of the lobby, and the bare black marble walls called for something more than the ugly brass and stone fountain sitting in the middle. Maybe one day she could come down and sketch it out, find something else to do with the huge expanses of bare wall.

Kevin's office door was shut and the blinds closed. "Hi!" she said to the secretary, Paul. Nice enough guy, although he never remembered her name.

"Oh, hi, mi…miss. Is Mr. Chaston expecting you?"

"Yep." She never broke stride. "Is he in with anyone?"

"No, he's not, but—" She ignored him and knocked.

"It's me." She called, letting herself in.

Kevin was seated at his desk, his jacket and tie thrown across one of the sofas. "Hey you." The weight that had been burdening on his shoulders seemed to have evaporated. "Your shirt's inside out."

"Yes, I _know._ Don't get up," she said, crossing the space and coming around to his side of the desk. She bent down and kissed him, lightly. "Guess you had a pretty good day."

"You could say that." He wasn't exactly smiling, not yet, but she had a plan for that. "We should celebrate. Want a drink?"

Mina hoisted herself onto his desk directly in front of him, shrugging out of her overcoat. She parted her knees a bit and started swinging her legs. "Not yet. I was thinking of another way to celebrate."

He reached out and started rubbing one of her knees; she knew he wouldn't be able to resist. "Like going to my parents' house this weekend? Great idea."

She kicked at him. "No, you're forcing me to do that anyway. Take another guess."

He put one hand behind his head and reached underneath her skirt to stroke her thigh. Mina could practically feel herself melt as she placed her feet on the arms of his chair. "What did you have in mind?"

She hitched up and pulled her panties off and down her legs in one smooth motion. His stare was so intense it was practically burning her. "What else?"

Her body turned away from him as she sunk down onto his lap. "First, you can kiss me," she whispered, reaching back to grab the back of his head while she rubbed her cheek against his. He bent his head and crushed his lips against hers, the heat starting to run through her body, settling in her chest and between her legs.

"Did you lock the door?" he breathed, pulling her skirt up and stroking at her apex. She gasped and nodded, working at the difficult task of unbuckling his belt while facing away from him. He made noise like a soft growl and went to work at her neck, moving her hair around to the front to suck on more of her skin. Finally, she was able to free him from the buckles and buttons, and after a second of adjusting, slid down.

The door burst open, and Paul rushed in just as he penetrated her.

She sat up as Kevin shoved the chair almost flush with the desk, so that hopefully Paul would see nothing more than Mina sitting on his lap behind the desk. Thankfully, they were both fully clothed, at least from the waist up. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but you asked for these?" He placed a file folder on the desk in front of Mina.

"Thank you," Kevin murmured. She could tell he was trying to keep his breathing regular. Mina smiled at the other man, who seemed a little suspicious but still clueless.

"Thanks Paul!" She chirped, and at the same time, tightened so that she was squeezing him. A soft gasp from behind her shoulder, and a ripple of pleasure as he moved her slightly. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Yes, ma'am?" She started flexing again, and felt Kevin's heartbeat go haywire.

"Can you lock the door behind you?"

"Of course." He made a hasty exit, the door clicking shut behind him.

Kevin reached up and turned her face so that she was looking directly into his eyes. "That wasn't nice."

"Which part?" She said innocently, rising up a few inches and then sinking down. He shoved her off abruptly, accidentally using a bit too much force, and stood, bending her over the desk face down.

"All of it," he rasped, shoving himself inside of her. She buried her shout in her sleeve as he gripped her hips and started moving. "But especially when you forgot to lock the door."

* * *

"I swear I locked the door," Mina insisted for probably the tenth or eleventh time since they had started this conversation. She reached over and turned the heat up in the car, since Kevin seemed to exist in some bizarro world where anything above sixty-five degrees was considered stifling.

He cracked the window as he drove. "You're not going to convince me easily; he came right in without breaking and entering."

"Maybe he McGuyvered something without you knowing." He was giving her a look. "OK, fine, I forgot to lock the frigging door. I couldn't help it; you were in a good mood and I was horny. I just sold two paintings in one day. That beats my previous record of one." She slouched down in her seat and idly traced the condensation collecting on the window.

He reached over and stroked her hair. "I don't blame you. I shared your horny."

She moved her head into his hand and bit him lightly on the finger. "I like it when you share my horny. Are we there yet?"

"Definitely not. Unless my parents sold their house and now live next to…mile marker two ninety."

"I hear that's hot real estate these days," she said. "That mile marker is next to an emergency call box." She pulled an elastic band off of her wrist and tied her hair back. "OK, you promised you'd brief me before we got there. Now's the chance."

"What do you want to know? You've met my sister. She's pretty much the weirdest one we have."

"Tell me everything. I warned you about my family." She had brought Kevin home for a holiday, giving him the heads up that he would probably be exposed to cheap beer, burned pie, and probably a fight or two. The beer was slightly better this year, but her mom's pie was so dry it was like taking a mouthful of saltine crackers chased by some croutons, and the fight was actually between her and Jason over who had fed the dog too much ham, which had caused him to vomit, spectacularly, Darien-style all over the dining room carpet.

"Your family is fine."

"Yeah, that's because you watched football the entire time with my drunk uncles. And they didn't know—" She stopped herself.

"Didn't know what?"

She had almost blurted _how much money you have._ He had parked around the corner and had kept description about his occupation intentionally vague. If they had known, first of all, her mother would start grilling her and her father would have been stupidly nice to Kevin instead of shooting dark looks whenever Mina touched him. And if the drunk uncles got a hint…

She changed tracks. "Didn't know that their darling niece was jumping you every chance she gets."

The corners of his mouth lifted. "And forgets to lock the door."

"Oh, cut me a break, already!"

Mina tried to keep her cool as they arrived at his parents' house, but she couldn't stop her jaw from dropping as they turned up the driveway, a misnomer, since it really was practically a road, and caught sight of what could only be described as a mansion, resting between budding trees on an estate that was probably the size of her entire neighborhood back home. Raye had tried to prepare her by showing her google earth images, but seeing the house in person as opposed to a sixteen-inch computer screen was a very different experience.

And, again, she started to get very nervous.

Serena was waiting outside, waving as her silvery ponytail was whipped around by the frigid wind, wearing jeans and a light pink sweater but no coat or shoes. She ran and opened the passenger door and practically dragged Mina out by an arm. "Oh my God, finally, you guys, what took you so long?"

"Are we late?" This was unusual, Mina thought. Kevin was probably on time to his own birth down to the second.

"Oh, no, I was just bored waiting for you. Darien's been on the phone the entire time because God forbid he actually take a day off and I've been sitting around making small talk with my Aunt Kathy and she's kind of a bitch. And not really my aunt. She's like, my dad's cousin and really into psychics right now and I just can't handle that. Are you coming?"

Mina had stopped dead in the foyer, her eyes darting around, unsure of what to settle on and admire first. The sweeping staircase, the absolutely insane chandelier, the marble lining the walls or the mirrors that stretched to the cathedral ceiling, the pillows and candelabras and the sculptures set in alcoves, all of it together making Mina feel like she should have been charged admission to enter this place. This couldn't be someone's home: homes had carpet that still had marker stains ground into its fibers from a toddler self-portrait, and mail cluttering the counters and pot holders that didn't match, and stacks of magazines hiding under the coffee table, and an old dog lurching around that would still come running when you came through the door, no matter how long it had been.

She remembered now that her father's favorite recliner was patched together with duct tape.

"Mom!" An older woman entered the room, pale and blonde, wearing pearls against her sweater set and carrying a half-empty wine glass. She stopped when she noticed Mina standing there, gawking with her mouth open.

"Oh, hello."

"Hi." Mina didn't know what to do with her hands; she clasped them and held them together in front of her waist before remembering how freaking stupid that looked, then dropped them to her sides, which didn't seem right either, and then smoothed her hair down and immediately regretted indulging in such a vain, nervous motion.

Serena grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her forward. "Mom, this is Mina. You get to finally meet her. Mina," she turned and smiled. "This is our Mom."

The woman placed her wine glass down and extended her hand. It was cold to the touch. "Pleasure to meet you, finally."

"Y-you too." She was slim and tall, her hair cut neatly at her jaw line, her face was smooth save for a few lines and glowing, most likely due to years of sun avoidance and expensive skin cream. Her clothes were simple but every part of her was polished: no hair strayed out of place, her makeup was perfect, eyebrows neatly groomed, nails manicured. She turned to her daughter.

"Where is Kevin?"

"Parking," Serena replied. "Mom, Mina's an artist, remember? Darien and I have a couple of her pieces."

"Oh how nice." Her eyes never left Mina, who looked at the floor and tried to keep the blush from creeping up her neck. "Everything in their collection is so nice. Except there's one picture, in the bathroom I think, it clashes horribly and it's very disturbing. Very unfortunate."

Serena coughed. Mina swallowed and tried to keep from running out of the house in tears. "Oh, um, that one is mine. Unfortunately. Sorry."

Mrs. Chaston had the good manners to look guilty. "Oh dear, I apologize."

Mina forced out a fake laugh. "Oh, thank—no, sorry, I mean, it's no big—"

The front door opened, blasting her back with cold air and saving her from rambling out a non-sequential, stuttering non-apology. "Hi Mom." Kevin ran a hand down Mina's hair and kissed her head before hugging his mother. She was both grateful and horrified, since his mother had most definitely noticed the small action.

"Oh, hello, darling. It's been too long."

He nodded. "I see you've met Mina."

"Oh, yes, we were ah, just getting acquainted." She placed a hand on Mina's arm, but her smile didn't seem to reach her eyes. "Apparently, she's a very…talented artist."

Kevin picked Mina's bag up and slung it over his shoulder. "Not apparently--_is_. I'm going to take this upstairs and then go find Dad. Is Darien around? I need to ask what he did to my TV remote because it's been acting funny ever since he messed with it last week."

His mother stopped him before he started to ascend the staircase. "Oh, darling, take Mina's things to the blue bedroom. We have it all ready for her."

He didn't break stride. "Why? She's staying in my room."

"Well, I thought that perhaps she might be more comfortable staying there."

He stopped and looked over the railing, his expression unreadable, which was pretty much his default setting. "Are you serious?"

"Well, dear," Mrs. Chaston rubbed her throat absently.

"Mother, we're adults. We sleep in the same bed practically every night. Not to mention I noticed that Darien's not staying in a guest room."

"Well." Her fingers started twining themselves in her pearls now. "Dear, Darien is—"

Mina decided that this was a good time to interrupt. "You know what? I think I would be more comfortable in the uh, blue room." Her voice had cracked on the last syllable, effectively killing any chance she had at sounding assertive.

He was giving her a look. "Kevin, I'm serious. It's no big deal." He didn't move. "Go! Chop chop!" She got one last, dubious look before he continued up the stairs.

Serena broke the silence by taking Mina by the hand and pulling her into the house. "Let's go meet Daddy. And, ugh, Aunt Kathy, too, I guess."

"Nice to meet you," Mina called over her shoulder as she was led away.

Kevin's father had a very different reaction that his mother did to meeting her; he grabbed her into a hug, practically lifting her off her feet. "So happy to meet you, finally!" he bellowed, pulling Serena into the hug, too. She started giggling. "I've heard a lot about you, well, mostly from Serena here, because my son, well, you know him. You have to practically shove bamboo shoots underneath his fingernails to get anything out of him. Welcome, welcome!"

"Thank you." She untangled herself out from underneath his arm. "Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Chaston."

"Anytime, sweetheart, anytime; we have plenty of room! And call me Will!"

"Mina!" Darien hugged her from behind. "Glad to see you! Before you get comfortable, may I just say, for the record, that I did absolutely nothing to Kevin's damn television remote other than use it for its intended purpose? He's just gets confused by anything that has more than two buttons, which probably makes him an absolute dynamo in the sack, am I right? Sorry for you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You suck."

"Very well, actually, fortunately for my wife. Where is the big guy, anyway?"

"Upstairs, putting our bags away."

"Ah good!" Will clapped hand to her back and led her away. "Let me give you the tour in the meantime. As long as you are here, please make yourself at home, and if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. Now I must ask: do you like scotch?"

She shrugged. "I like anything that takes the edge off."

He laughed. "Then I have something you need to try. How about jazz?"

"Love it."

"Oh, goody, we're going to be best friends!"

* * *

Kevin's father did most of the talking through dinner, which was served in a giant dining room that Mina swore was in a movie of some sort. At least there were no butlers like in the movies, just one older woman who cooked and served and rolled her eyes when Serena tipped over the bowl full of au jus.

"So, where did you and Kevin meet?" Will asked, clicking a remote and changing the background music from jazz to Motown.

Mina's mind raced, trying to come up with something believable. She took a sip of wine, trying to buy time. Kevin shot a look to Darien.

"I introduced them!" he announced. "I've known Mina since her first year of school, and when Kevin moved into the city I thought what better way to feed his burning fascination with the arts than to hook him up with one of the more, ah, _visually_ _stimulating_ artists in the district. In fact, he was so concerned with the aesthetics of his new place that he came over and practically begged me for that painting in the guest bathroom. You know, the one with the teeth?"

"So that's what happened to my painting," Mina said through gritted teeth.

"Begged, I tell you. He was practically groveling. How could I refuse?"

"What did you do to my remote?" Kevin interjected.

"For the last time, nothing! Did you try and take the batteries out? Sometimes that will reset it if it's, I don't know, dropped in a sinkful of water or something. I'm just saying."

"You asshole."

"Please do not use that kind of language at the table," Mrs. Chaston scolded. Aunt Kathy tossed a disdainful look at the younger group.

Darien chuckled. "You just got yelled at by your mom."

"You owe me a remote."

Mrs. Chaston was determined to change the subject. "So, Mina, what exactly do you do?"

She furrowed her brow, a little confused. Hadn't they already covered this? "Paintings, mostly, and sketches, pencil and ink and charcoal. Sometimes when I feel really creative I'll try working with clay or mixed media to make three-dimensional pieces, but usually I just stick to canvas. I've done a couple of murals too, but those were commissions."

Aunt Kathy spoke up. "So you just…paint? You don't have a job?"

Kevin clanged his fork to his plate and was about to unleash, but Mina put a hand on his leg under the table to quiet him. "It is my job."

"I thought it might be more of a hobby. I mean, how can you support yourself by selling paintings?"

This time Darien was the one who nearly had an outburst, but Serena beat him to the punch. "Are you kidding? Mina is one of the hardest working people that I know. It's not exactly easy to break into the art scene, even you are as incredibly talented as she is." She smiled at Mina. "She's dedicated her life to her art; she works hard every day and doesn't have time for hobbies or even to watch TV. I for one am happy that she loves what she does and is good at it. I guess we can't all be living off our second divorce."

Will snorted laughter into his napkin. Mina sat motionless, trying to decide whether to beg Kevin to take her home that night or leap over the dining table and hit Serena with a high five. Who thought the petite little kitten had such claws?

Kevin's father insisted on sitting at her elbow over coffee and pie. "Elaine hates it when I smoke in the house," he said apologetically, gesturing at the open window as he lit up a cigar. "I hope you're not too cold."

"I'm fine," she said, taking a sip of coffee to disguise her shivering.

"So," he said, smiling and exhaling a plume of smoke. "Tell me about you. Give me some good stories, and in exchange I'll try and remember something embarrassing about Kevin when he was younger."

She really liked Will, she decided, giving an annotated history of her life, family, and school days. "When did you start taking lessons?"

"Um, I never really took any," she explained, stirring her coffee. "My parents are both very, very good at drawing, and my father—he's an architect—he gave me a piece of graph paper once to doodle on when I was about four, and I ended up drawing a picture of an egg, with a chicken running in the background, and it was, um, well, it wasn't a typical, like, child's drawing, you know? He said I got the lighting and proportion right on the money, and even the perspective, since I made the chicken smaller and higher up to show distance. I even did some shading, and broke down the chicken into smaller shapes and then blended them together. He told me that he knew then that I would do this the rest of my life."

Will's smile was soft. "He must be very proud of you."

"I hope so. He still has the picture, somewhere."

He reached over and took her cup. "Let me get you more coffee."

"Oh no, let me," she said, jumping up and heading towards the kitchen. She turned the corner, through a door, and paused when she heard voices. Some instinct stopped her from entering, and she pressed her back against the wall and listened.

"I didn't mean to come across that way, you know that." She heard Mrs. Chaston say.

"Save it," Kevin responded. "You know exactly how you came across."

"Darling, I just—" She stopped and seemed to choose her next words carefully. "I just want to make sure that this girl, she's not just with you because…"

"Because why?"

Another long pause. "Because of what you can give her." He must have given her some sort of look, because she rushed to correct herself. "Kevin, listen, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Mina, I think she's delightful, but you have to be careful when you date someone who has, well, who's not as, _well-off_—"

"So what you're saying is, be careful because she might be a gold-digger?"

"Your cousin Trevor—"

"Trevor's an idiot who was asking for it. What did he expect when he ordered a Russian bride off of the Internet?"

"But still—"

"Mother, listen. Mina is not the person you assume her to be. I know her. And I'm not stupid. So I'm sorry that you're disappointed that I'm in love with her and not some brainless debutante, but she's not going anywhere, so you might as well get used to the idea." Mina heard him crossing the kitchen floor and opening a door, most likely the one leading into the game room, where Darien and Serena were playing billiards.

She crept back to the dining room. "Will, I'm done with coffee. How about some scotch?"

* * *

She faked a headache and retired to her room early, where she changed hastily into sleepwear and slid into bed with a sketchpad. "Blue room" was really a misnomer, since most everything was white, except for the trim on the wallpaper.

A knock at the door. "Come in," she mumbled, reaching for a gum eraser to fix a misfire.

Kevin entered, wearing only shorts, his hair wet from a shower. "Feeling better?"

She didn't look up as she continued drawing. "Yeah, I guess."

He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her pencil move across the page. He wanted to press her to his body, stroke her hair, something more physical that would make up for his family acting like snobs. "I have to confess something."

"Yeah?"

His played with the sheet, pulling and creating a row of small peaks. "Um, this is hard for me to say. When we were at your house, it was me who made Bagels throw up."

That got her attention; she raised her head and looked at him with those soul-killing blue eyes. He continued.  
"You see, your mom made me take more pie after I finished the first piece, and no offense, your mother's a sweet lady, but it was dry. Really, really dry. And Bagels was there, and I was the only person in the room, and he had been eating out of the garbage, so I decided I would just save him the trouble and gave it to him. He ate it, too. And when he threw up, you thought it was Jason, and Jason thought it was you…" He cleared his throat, unsure of why he chose this moment to confess to this particular incident. Until he had opened his mouth, all parties involved had considered it a cold case. "So, yeah, it was me."

She was still looking at him, saying nothing, valiantly trying to conceal the hurt in her eyes that he knew had nothing to do with Bagels and his touchy digestive system. "Listen, my mother is a harpy. Serena and I are used to dealing with it, and the best way is to just ignore her because she's just one person and we don't take her seriously. And Aunt Kathy has been a troll ever since her son married this Russian woman that he bought—"

"You love me."

That stopped him mid-sentence. He thought about a defensive maneuver; unsure of how she would handle this new information, before deciding fuck it, it was out there. "I guess you heard."

She still didn't speak, but lowered her pad and sat up. Kevin tried to think of something to say, usually he could do this, but this was a different situation; he felt as if his life hung in the balance by whatever she said next. He broke the silence first.

"Yeah, I do." He looked into her eyes. "I just haven't told you, you know, to your face."

She slid over until she was next to him. "I haven't, either." She held her pad out to him. "Look."

She had been drawing him, again, from memory. He flipped the pages, all of the sketches were of him in various states: driving, looking down, with glasses, without, sleeping, sitting, laying, standing, smiling. He glanced to the lower right corner of every sketch, right above her initials.

She had titled every sketch "Love".

She made a low moan when he kissed her, and then started, seeming to apologize and silence herself. He slid one hand behind her head, into her hair, and lowered her gently to the bed, pressing his body against hers. She gasped again. "Louder," he whispered. "I want my mother to hear."


	4. Chapter 4: The Second Rule is

CHAPTER FOUR: The Second Rule is "Don't Leave Empties in the Shower"

It was completely counterproductive to watch her paint instead of focusing on his work, but Kevin was being assaulted simultaneously on two fronts. For one, the painting she was working on was utterly fascinating, and he knew there would be Stanley Cup playoffs on Satan's personal icepond before he could ever attempt to create anything that looked like it was underwater using nothing but acrylic paint and a brush; and secondly, whether she knew it or not, Mina had a habit of systematically stripping down when she painted.

She had started off fully clothed; an iPod strapped to her upper arm in an athletic band while she sang along softly and mixed pigments on a palette. Then she spent a good half hour adjusting the lights in his apartment until satisfied. He watched her over the top of his laptop as she stalked around for a whilst, finally making the first stroke, then another one, sometimes working the brush frantically over the canvas, other times stopping to stare for a long while before making a tiny adjustment. A careless splotch of paint dropped off her brush and onto her cutoffs; she swore and set her palette down before pulling them off and kicking them off into a corner. Kevin didn't see what the big deal was: they were already covered in paint.

Her shirt came off next; she wiped her forehead with it before throwing it in the general direction of the shorts. A quarter of an hour later she snapped her bra off in a fury and threw it aside. Her breasts bounced free underneath her tank top as she pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Kevin began to squirm in his chair at that point.

She continued painting, then stopped, staring at an orange shape she had put towards the top. "No," she said aloud, stepping back. "White."

"Something wrong?"

"Shush!" She waved him off, her hands and arms covered in streaks of color. She switched brushes, dabbed some more paint on the canvas, then shut her eyes and rubbed her face with the back of her hand, transferring the paint there onto her face.

He watched her work in the corner of the living room, tripping over drop cloths and constantly moving her easel to catch optimal light, and an idea started blooming in his mind. He scribbled a Post-It to himself and stuck it on his pile of paper, then threw more papers on top of it.

"I need a break," she muttered, pulling her tank top off and wiping her hands with it as she wandered towards the kitchen. She emerged moments later, wearing nothing but a pair of light blue bikini panties, her bangs in her eyes as she sucked on an orange Popsicle.

"What are you doing?" she asked, backing up slightly as he stood suddenly, knocking over his chair and crossing the distance between them in three strides.

Her Popsicle melted into a sticky orange puddle on the floor.

* * *

Kevin's dining partner kept reaching over and stealing pieces of his muffin, and not just any pieces, but actively seeking and digging out the thick blueberries buried in the dough--the best part--and slipping them, unashamed, into her mouth. Most of the blueberries were now gone, and the muffin was mutilated. There was no choice now but to buy another one. He took another sip of his coffee and said nothing.

Makoto trotted over to him during a lull in the morning rush and refilled his coffee, mouthing a quick "thank you" before disappearing behind the counter. He waved her off and turned back to his laptop screen, ignoring the four emails from Zach that had popped up in the last five minutes, each one marked "urgent". It was a lost cause, but he checked his muffin one last time to see if salvage efforts would be worth it.

Aja was reaching for it again, this time squishing the crumbs in her tiny fist and pulling the mash to her mouth, all the while staring at him with her wide hazel eyes in the way that young children did, without breaking contact. She started to stand on her chair, her pale green tutu tangling around her legs, still looking at Kevin like he was an idiot that she barely tolerated.

It had been years since Kevin had interacted with any human being of less than twenty years of age, but while picking up coffee, he had noticed that Makoto was working alone with Aja strapped into a nearby high chair, whining and fussing as Makoto tried to take orders and make coffee. The opening person had called in, and a replacement couldn't come in for a few hours, so he had offered to watch Aja until the rush died down. Makoto had almost cried with joy as she passed the toddler over the counter.

He hadn't counted on her hijacking his breakfast.

Also, despite the fact that he had the parenting skill of a sack of cement, he deduced that standing on a wooden chair when you were small and pretty breakable was a bad idea, so he picked up Aja and settled her on his lap, praying to all receptive deities that she had been toilet trained.

The first thing she reached for was his coffee, so he moved it out of her reach. She whimpered, squirming, and Kevin wondered how he would deal with the inadequacy issues that would arise if Makoto discovered that he was incapable of watching a two year old for an hour. "Uh, hey, want to play with this?" He drummed a few keys, waking up his laptop, and noticed that Zach had given up trying to message him and was calling instead. He clicked open the dialogue box, and Zach's upper body popped onto the screen, sporting a wrinkled t-shirt and a few days worth of stubble.

"Hey, you guys work fast," he said in greeting, absently rubbing the back of his head. Aja stared at the screen, transfixed. "Doesn't look like either of you. Hate to break it to you, bro, but I don't think she's yours."

"Da!" Aja said, suddenly pointing at the screen. "Hi!"

"Aw, she thinks I'm her Dad," Zach pushed his face closer to the web cam so that his entire head filled the screen. "Which, thanks to this incredible pussy drought I'm going through, is pretty much impossible at this point."

"Zach, she can hear—"

"Hi little girl! Aren't you cute? I've got five bucks if you can manage to pee on Uncle Kevin's lap."

"What do you want?" Kevin said. He adjusted Aja; she was sitting on his tie and artfully strangling him.

"Well last night, I got bored and started, you know, killing time. So after about two or three hours of watching porn, I started searching for something else to, uh, stimulate me, and you're going to die when you see what I found."

Kevin instinctively clapped a hand over Aja's eyes. "Not in front of the kid."

"Don't worry, it's not porn. Well, it's not _not_ porn, exactly, but, here, check it out." He clicked something on his end, and a browser window popped up, playing a video. It was shot with a handheld, showing a stage lit up with soft pink light, and about a dozen young women in various stages of undress, half blonde, half brunette, dancing on chairs along with AC/DC. "You didn't tell me your girlfriend was in Liquid Sugar."

There was Mina, wearing black lingerie, fishnets and about twenty pounds of makeup, and actually jamming and smiling like she was having the time of her life. The crowd, mostly male, was going wild for the girl in the foreground, who seemed to be the ringleader or something. She looked familiar.

"Mommy!" Aja blurted, pointing. Kevin had forgotten to cover her eyes again. Sure enough, hovering in the background, Makoto was swinging on a rail affixed to the ceiling, her stomach hard and flat enough to grate something on.

"Ah, here comes my girl," Zach said. The ringleader was back, grabbing one leg and extending it over her head. The camera was shaking a lot, but Raye's shiny black hair and unmatched flexibility was unmistakable. "That's right, baby. Work out your daddy issues for me."

"That's Mina's best friend," Kevin said, taking a sip of coffee and wondering how long he could expose Aja to this before he was reported to Child Protective Services.

"Are you serious? And you haven't hooked me up?"

"She's been with Mina's brother for almost two years."

"Well, there goes that fantasy. Why didn't you tell me she was a Sugar girl? Do you know how many times I've, uh, applauded them one-handed on many a long, lonely night? Why didn't she stick with it? They're touring with Britney right now! And the new head Sugar has her own reality show, and yes, I do TiVO it."

Kevin clicked the video off. "She wanted to focus on her art."

"Bull, that's the highest form of performance art imaginable, and probably the most underappreciated. Did you notice that they never, ever get nude? But they make you think they did! It's incredible! And how all the blondes wear black all the time, and the brunettes are in white, they play with the whole virgin/whore archetype. It's actually very well done. My friend, THAT is art. Not scribblies on paper."

"That's how she met Darien," Kevin said. "He represents the rest of them now."

"Lucky bastard. Maybe I should look into being an agent. Or maybe I should buy a basketball team. What do you think? Too pretentious? Too Mark Cuban? Tell me the truth, I can handle."

Aja was reaching for the keyboard, her fingers sticky with muffin debris and saliva. "Is this all you called to tell me?"

"Well, yes, and to ask if Mina's ever Sugared for you. Because it's not fair for her to hold out on something like that. Damn!"

"Bye, Zach." He closed the box.

He gave Aja a yellow highlighter and a stack of Post-Its to play with while he completed one more transaction that, if it was ever discovered, would utterly fuck him, steal his lunch money, and leave him in the doghouse for a long time.

She had set three big rules in their relationship, and he was breaking Rule Number One. Again. Timing was everything; he had to wait she collected commission or made a sale, find out the amount, then quietly move funds into her account from one of his own. Judging by the number of unopened bank statements that were stacking up in her room, it was unlikely that she would ever notice. If he was lucky. Every damn thing came down to luck. Naturally, there was some guilt associated with so brazenly breaking Rule Number One on a pretty regular basis, but there was no other way he could get around it, and he _had_ to get around it. He justified it by sticking to Rule Number Two to the letter of the law.

Maybe he shouldn't do it this time. He had been pressing his luck so far, and it couldn't hold out forever…

Then he thought about her abandoning her underwater painting until she could afford more cobalt blue--which, surprisingly, was expensive enough to merit its own street value--and the decision made itself. He clicked the mouse.

Makoto rushed to the table again. "Kevin, thank you so much, I know I already owe you free coffee for life…would you like to keep my firstborn? She seems to like you."

"Don't worry about it." He picked up a napkin and tried to wipe off a smear of goo that Aja left on his shirt, hoping that it was one of the more innocuous bodily fluids. "Just have your husband keep the flagrant fouls down to one per game."

Makoto's expression was pained. "He still feels really, really bad about that."

"I'm just teasing. Part of it was my fault; if he didn't sprain my fingers, then I would have been called for a charge. I was trying to dunk over him."

"Even so. At least it was your left hand, right? Like, who needs their left hand?"

"I'm left handed."

"Oh."

She raised her eyebrows. "So what happening with…?"

Suddenly, he was nervous. The child on his lap sensed his change in mood and out of mercy, momentarily stopped drawing on his shirt with highlighter. "I'm going to show her today. What do you think?"

She smiled at him. "I think you need a new muffin."

* * *

********************************************************

Raye had always had excellent and exclusive taste in shoes; she had used her first advance to buy a pair of red Escada platforms with Swarovski crystal embellishments and a five-inch heel. For the first month after that, the only time she would wear them was to take a careful spin around her bedroom carpet, and the concept of lending them out, even to her nearest and dearest friend who was fortunate enough to share the same shoe size, was absolutely unheard of. An addiction was born, and since her professional career had recently started to reap the discretionary spending to amass a distinguished collection, she had been a little more lenient with her lending practices.

However, if she knew that Mina was practically running down the sidewalk wearing her steel-colored goatskin and patent leather Prada stilettos, risking a scuff, or worse, a broken heel, her generosity would be cut off in half a blink.

"Hey! You're like, running! Do you know what Raye will do to me if I mess up her shoes?"

He slowed. "Sorry." He had left work in the middle of the day, which considering that Mina hadn't seen him in daylight hours in at least a week, was highly suspect. The explanation was equally foggy: something about checking out a new apartment that he wanted to buy. It was kind of weird to her, since she couldn't fathom any reason why he would want to move, other than the fact that she had dropped a cast iron pan and chipped a corner of his countertop, which still filled her with mad guilt every time she stood in his kitchen. But now he seemed anxious as he charged down the sidewalk, pulling her by one hand.

She trotted a bit to catch up with him. "Hey! Did I tell you the prints of _Victory_ are done? Jesse already sold two of them online. Now he has to figure out how to ship one of them to Halifax. Hey, there's something yellow on your shirt. It looks like highlighter."

He stopped in front of a building. "This one." The doorwoman opened the door for them.

"Thanks!" Mina called over her shoulder as they entered the elevator. She kept talking as he swiped some card and punched a button. "So anyway, he didn't even know where Halifax is. He doesn't know where anything is outside of the city, and he threw this total bitch-fit when I teased him about it so now I have to draw a tattoo for some guy that he's sweating over so he can pass it off as his own. I thought everyone knew that Halifax is in Scotland."

He didn't even catch it. "What?"

"What's wrong with you?" She stared at him. "Do you have a body hidden up there or something? What's going on?"

He grabbed her by the elbows and pulled her close. "I'm just…I really hope you like this place."

"Uh, I like the place you have now. There's nothing wrong with it. At least your bedroom doesn't have a giant hole in the ceiling."

"Believe me, you'll probably like this one better." The hallway was awfully small, Mina noticed, and there was only one unmarked double door. Kevin pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

Her borrowed heels clicked on the floor as she entered. "Wow." She turned slowly, taking in the high ceiling and natural light pouring in through the skylight. "This is huge. Lots of wall space." She trailed a hand against the wall as she continued her inspection, already planning which pieces she could arrange on all the empty space. "Wow. This is incredible."

"Can I show you something?"

Mina stopped halfway through her inspection of the kitchen and threw him a quick smile. "It's that body you're hiding, isn't it?"

"No, I keep those in the trunk of my car. Just come here already!"

"OK, OK."

He led her down a hall, past other rooms that at a quick glance, were just as gigantic as the rest of the place, and opened a door at the end of the hallway.

This room was different: the walls were white, the floor was wood, and the ceiling stretched a good twenty feet above her head, with a gigantic skylight letting the afternoon sun in. A countertop ran across the length of one of the walls, complete with an industrial sink, and most significantly, a spiral staircase that led to a small loft, complete with more cabinets.

Kevin was watching her as she stared, open mouthed, and tentatively touched the countertops. "What are you thinking?"

Mina swallowed. "I'm thinking that there's only one reason you would consider buying a place that has studio space in it." She turned to him. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. Do you like the track lighting? I had Noah put it in. He owed me a favor for almost breaking my goddamn fingers."

She was shaking her head. "It's too much, I can't accept this."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't! This is a total violation of Rule Number One. I do _not_ take money off you!" She couldn't think of what else to say, so she simply sat on the floor.

"Mina, you're not taking money off of me."

Please. "Oh bullshit, this is beyond taking money off of you. This is like, taking giant solid gold dumpsters of money off of you. I would owe you forever."

He reached down and pulled her up by a hand. "You wouldn't owe me anything. I'm asking you to live with me."

She had made him blush again, she noticed. "I'm sorry, I'm freaking out, I just—it's like, I've never had someone do something like this…"

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask one."

He reached out and rubbed her face with his thumb. "I asked if you would live with me. Don't get hung up on the details. Just answer me."

Mina stared into his eyes, narrowed and anxious, and let what he was really asking her sink in. She exhaled, then nodded.

He pulled her into a rib-crushing hug, momentarily knocking the breath out of her. "You already bought it, didn't you?" she said, turning her head into his chest.

"Sort of."

"Sort of like how? In wayman's terms."

"'Layman's terms'."

"Whatever, poindexter."

"Uh, I gave the previous owner a set amount of legal tender and signed papers and now I am the current owner."

"What would you do if I said no?"

He pulled back to look at her. "Well, I would have one really huge bathroom with track lighting."

* * *

****************************************************************

"MINA!"

She stopped rummaging through her closet and poked her head out of her bedroom door. Her brother could be such a pain in the ass. "What?"

"Come here a second."

"Can it wait?"

"No. I only have an hour to get this done."

"Jeez." She made her way to his desk and leaned over his shoulder. "What?"

"What do you think?" He stopped clicking the mouse for a moment.

She leaned closer to the monitor. Jason usually had a better eye for composition and depth than she did, but this whole mess that he had created was a definite misfire. "Too cluttered."

"Huh." He crossed his arms. "Any suggestions?"

"Yes, move." He shoved aside, barely, allowing her to reach over and take the mouse. "I'm going to take out everything in this corner."

"Go ahead."

Mina clicked a few lines off, thought a bit, and then deleted some more. "Can I keep going?"

"I'm giving you free rein," he said, leaning back in his chair. "By the way, Mark's band is looking for something for their next album's cover. Can I show him your apple-turning-into-a-human-heart?"

"That one? Sure. It hasn't sold yet." She smirked as she remembered Kevin's face when he came home and found her sketching a fresh pig heart plunked in the middle of his dining table. "Hey, uh, I've been meaning to tell you, I, uh," she kicked herself mentally for stuttering. Why did she feel strange announcing it out loud, and to her damn brother, of all people? "Kevin asked me to move in with him. H-he bought a new apartment, and it has a studio in it where I can work."

Jason was nonplussed. "Yeah, I know. I helped him and Noah put in the track lighting."

_What the hell?_ "Did everyone know about this except me? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Maybe because he wanted to surprise you?"

"Why would he do that?"

His expression was so exasperated that there were swear words written into it. "Because he loves you, you idiot."

"Well, yeah, but I mean, this isn't a bunch of flowers or something. He pretty much bought me a house."

Jason turned to her. "Are you really that emotionally constipated? The guy is in love with you, stupid, and for some reason I don't really understand, because you're dumber than a box of hair that's been lit on fire and stomped out by a mime."

"Shut up."

"And not at all attractive physically."

She clicked a few more times. "Mom told me you have a small dick."

"Mom told me you were born with both boy and girl parts."

"Mom told me you were adopted."

"Good, that means I'm not related to you." He nodded at the screen. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, you like it?"

He grunted. "Actually, yeah. You saved this thing. I owe you one."

She swatted him on the shoulder. "You can help me move."

* * *

**************************************************************

Mina unwisely waited until Jesse was stretching at the top of a ladder, trying to hang a painting, to bring up the subject. "Kevin's never been to the Louvre."

Jesse wobbled a bit. "Really? My boy has never been to the most famous museum in the world?" He shrugged as much as his position would allow him. "I'm not that surprised, actually. He's not the type that would piss away his entire day looking at art." He glanced down to where Mina was standing, holding the ladder. "Why are you surprised? You know him much better than me, unfortunately, and even I can tell it's not his thing."

"I know," she agreed. "It's just weird to me."

"Why? Honey, you guys are very compatible, but it's not like you share a lot of interests." He noticed her expression, and rambled on. "There's nothing wrong with that, you know. You don't have to completely mesh on everything."

"Well, yeah…"

"Well nothing. Mina, please get over it. Casey was an artist. Similar interests do not a stable relationship make."

She threw him a look. "Tell me, what was your longest relationship? Three weeks?"

"Three weeks and four and a half days, thank you very much! I dumped his Minnelli-loving ass over lunch, so I'm counting the morning hours into the grand total. That's the last time I date older guys who aren't out of the closet yet." He let go of the painting and dusted his hands. "Speaking of lunch, let's get the hell out of here. I'm hungry and there's no place that this tacky thing is going to look good. I don't know what I was on when I made it. Oh wait, yes I do. Hash."

"OK. I have to stop and get some money, though."

At the ATM, she stopped and stared at her receipt. "What?" Jesse said, his stomach rumbling.

She crushed the paper in her fist. "That's funny. I should be broker than this."

"Oh, poor you. This means you're buying." He lit a cigarette as they started off again. "So anyway, how's the new home? When are you going to have a party?"

"Heh," she laughed. "Once I feel like it's actually my home."

Jesse took a drag. "What do you mean?"

Mina exhaled, trying to think of the best way she could phrase it and not sound like an ungrateful tool, which was what she felt like most days. "It's like-he bought this apartment, right? And it's totally fabulous and I love it and I can't believe that it's now where I live, but it's like, what if I break something or clog the pipes, or the cat barfs on the floor when we're not home and it's stomach acid eats away at the hardwood? I've never lived anywhere nice enough to even care if my floors are discolored from cat puke, but now I freak out about that kind of thing, because it's our apartment, but it's not, it's really his, and it's bad enough that he pays all the bills…"

Jesse was staring at her like she had just pulled a severed head out of her purse. "Sweet baby Jesus, Mina, I always knew you were a little unhinged, but I didn't know you could cross the line into actual crazy."

She hit him. "You don't understand. Stop making fun of me!"

"I understand that you are still getting used to living with another person, but God, dear, it doesn't bother him, obviously, or else he would have said something, and if it bothers you so much, why don't you just talk to him about it? You're both adults, and thankfully only one of you is crazy."

She shot him a look as she pulled open the café door. "This crazy woman thinks that's crazy talk."

"Yes, mature, open communication is definitely not the way to go. Tell me, is it current drugs that are killing your brain, or was it the ones in college, because frankly, I can't tell, and I would like some."

* * *

Kevin flinched as something light and scratchy hit his face, and luckily, instinctively closed his eyes at the same time.

"Hey!" Darien shouted, drawing stares from other patrons as he shook the saltshaker in Kevin's face. "Come back, soldier! _Achtung_!"

"Quit it, we're in public!" he hissed, rubbing salt crystals out of the folds of his eyelids and dislodging a contact in the process. _Shit._

Darien smiled disarmingly at the table staring at them, which would have had a better effect if they were females of any age range, instead of gray-haired CEOs in suits. He bit loudly into a raw baby carrot. "We're always in public. Life happens in public. So, what's eating you?"

"Nothing," Kevin muttered, his index finger practically knuckle-deep in his eyeball. "Ouch. Shit."

"Yes, there is, because that's the second time I caught you staring into space like a freshman daydreaming of tits in math class. Are you daydreaming of tits? No shame, man, that's practically ninety percent of my day. The other ten percent is actually staring at tits, thank Allah."

Kevin was too preoccupied with the slab of plastic in his eye to catch any of that. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't worry about it. You were just about to fess up to whatever the hell's bothering you."

"Nothing's bothering me."

"Yeah, sure. Please cut the bullshit, I know you already."

Kevin wasn't sure where he should start, or when, or what exactly he was trying to say that would articulate the peculiar feeling that had been taking residence in his gut at inopportune times, a feeling that he was not accustomed to. Darien must have seen the indecision written on his face, as his tone suddenly went serious. "I know you well enough to know it's not work, because then you would be bitching up a storm, so that leaves family or girlfriend. I'm going to guess girlfriend." He squinted across the table. "Is she knocked up?"

"What? No!" His eye was killing him; either a grain of salt had somehow worked its way in, or the contact was torn and was now giving him corneal abrasions every time he blinked. Still better than someone shooting lasers in his eyes and peeling it like a goddamn grape. He kept Darien waiting for a few moments while he fished the contact out of his eye and stuck it to his napkin. "Mina cleans the bedroom."

Darien sat stock-still and blinked a few times. "How dare she. What a bitch," he deadpanned.

"Never mind." The other contact was retrieved and joined its partner on the table. He bent and fished in his briefcase for his glasses.

"No, really, now I need to hear this. You've got sand in your asscrack because…your girlfriend cleans the bedroom?"

"Have you ever seen her bedroom?"

Darien laughed and took a sip of water. "No, my friend, that's your job."

"OK, well, her bedroom's never clean. I used to think it was just too small for her, because she was working out of it, and she needs a lot of supplies to paint with, but then I've seen her room at her parents' house, and parts of the apartment that she started to…influence, and so really, she's just not a neat person."

"Bro, I couldn't care what a woman's house looked like, as long as I had a clear path from the bed to the toilet."

Kevin wondered momentarily how Darien managed to marry his sister before continuing. "But now she cleans everything, almost religiously, and especially the bedroom. She even dusts."

"Enlighten me, son, because I still fail to see what the problem is."

He sighed. "The problem is she's still acting like a guest in her own house. She asks me before she does anything, like, putting pictures on the refrigerator or changing the towels and shit. I don't care; it's her home, too. She shouldn't feel like she has to ask."

Darien chewed slowly. "OK, so, your whole issue is that she cleans up after herself instead of reverting back to insane slob, probably out of consideration for you, which means working to change her bad habits, again, not easy for her, but she does it anyway, because she loves you and wants to make you happy, and since you're thirty-two flavors of fucked up, you hate that."

"I just want her to be happy."

"Here's a thought, genius, why don't you just talk to her and tell her to stop with the Suzy Homemaker?"

"I think that will make her uncomfortable. I was just going to hire a housekeeper."

Darien made a strangled noise. "Yes, that's such a better idea. Don't listen to me, I'm just happily married and all."

"It's different. We're not married."

"Please, you bought her an apartment. That's practically a prenup."

Kevin was silent as he stared at a point five feet in front of him on the ground, his eyes growing distant. Darien sighed and reached for the saltshaker.

* * *

The magazines weren't stacking correctly, Mina noticed, leaning over for the fourth time in five minutes and re-fanning them out in a semi-circle. Now it looked like a dentist's office. Exasperated, she gave up and grabbed the entire stack and hastily jammed it under the couch.

It was the most pointless thing in the world to worry about, since they were obviously unread: their spines were unbent and subscription cards kept falling out. She had ran out and bought them an hour before, after realizing that if one was stuck in this sitting area, with its long white couches and teak end tables, there was nothing to occupy your time unless you liked staring at the bowl of fake lemons that Jesse had made during his experiment with ceramic. This room was boring, and very white. Mina bit at her thumbnail and decided the best bet would be to steer her father towards the kitchen and back living room, both of which at least had televisions.

She still couldn't believe that she lived in an apartment that had a "back" and "front" living room. And no one crashing on the couches of either.

She grabbed a sketchpad and settled back against one of the boring white couches. Serena had picked them out; Mina had been in the process organizing an alumni exhibition that had sucked several months out of her life, and Kevin was too busy to pick out his own shoelaces, much less furnishings. They were far from ugly, but also far from inspiring. And white. Serena loved white. Mina realized that she had been mindlessly doodling the stupid bowl of stupid fake lemons and threw her pad aside.

Her phone rang. Jason was calling, meaning they were here already or close. "Hey."

"What's the code again?"

Unreal. "I've told you like two hundred times, can't you remember four numbers? Four zero two five. _Stupid_." He hung up on her in lieu of replying.

She had the front door open as her family came out of the elevator. "Daddy!"

"Hi, hi." He set down his suitcase, which looked brand new, and hugged her tightly. She stuck her face in his coat and inhaled the scent of cedar closets and dryer sheets that she would always associate with home. "How's my girl?"

"You look skinny," her mother said as a greeting as she hugged her. She eyed Mina suspiciously. "But your boobs are bigger. Did you get something done to them?"

"She's up the stick," Jason joked, shoving past her through the doorway with his mother's bag. Mina aimed a kick for his shin and missed.

"What?!"

"No, Mom, it's probably the Ortho, or my bra." Luckily, her parents weren't listening anymore, as they were standing the foyer and gaping at the interior of the apartment. "So…yeah. This is the place."

Her father took a few steps forward. "You don't have a mortgage?"

"Um, no." Jason was giving her a strange look. "I don't. Kevin bought it for me—for us." She tried to swallow the thick lump sticking in her throat. "Do you—do you like it?"

"Mina," her father said, unzipping his coat slowly. "Just how much money does this guy of yours have, anyway?"

"Fucking shitloads," Jason helpfully provided. "You guys never noticed?"

"Language, Jason!" Their mother shook her head. "No! He never mentioned…_neither _of you mentioned anything! We knew he was well-off, but not _this_ well-off!"

Jason shrugged. "Not my place. Hey, is this why you guys always made me drive when we visited? So Dad wouldn't see the Porsche or the Lotus?"

"Um, yeah? Plus the four of us wouldn't fit, you know how much Raye packs."

"See the what?" their mother said, astonished. Mina shifted her weight; she knew her parents would be shocked when they finally came over, and tried to prepare for it, but it still felt like throwing up: painful during the process, but much better when it was over.

"Well, tell him to buy a Range Rover or something. Those trips are hard on the Chevelle."

Their father was wandering past the boring front room and into the kitchen. Mina's mother let out a sudden gasp. "I gave the bowl he gave us for Christmas to the school rummage sale!"

Mina winced. "Mom! Please tell me they sold it for more than five hundred bucks."

"No, I think the band director took it home for a dollar. Oh darn it, darn it!"

Jason started laughing. "Not your fault, it was ugly."

"It really was," Mina added. "He picked it out himself. He really shouldn't be allowed do that."

"He did OK with this place," Jason replied, as their father continued his meandering.

"Daddy?" He turned to her, and something in his face was very disquieting. "Want to see the best part?"

She led them down the hallway and to her studio. "Tah-dah!" The studio had transformed from its time as a bare room with unscratched floors to a heavily creative workspace: paintings in various stages of drying were hung on the walls; easels with half-completed works were positioned in a line as if standing at attention. Sunlight filtered in, catching specks of dust swirling in the air. The counters were filled with paint tubes and jars full of brushes, rolls of canvas, wood, nails, cans of gesso and thinner, jars of oils, pads, pastels, CDs, a spool of wire, X-acto knives, stained rags, grinding stones, erasers. Its surface was barely visible.

Her father turned in a slow circle while her mother reached down, picked up a discarded t-shirt and habitually folded it before placing it on a couch that was resting against a wall. "Mina, don't leave your clothes lying around. Oh, this couch is broken."

"Oh…yeah." Formerly belonging to Jesse's now-evicted roommate, the couch had proved itself indispensable. When Kevin came home from work agitated, he would decompress by popping a beer, settling down, and silently watching her paint. Usually this would lead to working out stress in another way, too, and if her mother would look closely, she would notice that not only was the couch frame broken, but that the feet had scratched deep gouges in the floor from repeated, hard friction, and the t-shirt that she had folded had a seam coming apart from when it had been ripped off. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any visible stains.

"I like this new one." Jason nodded towards a sketch on an easel. "Sure you want to keep her hand up like that?"

She stood next to him and cocked her head, staring at the canvas sideways. "Why, what were you thinking?"

"Uh. Hmm, maybe turn the wrist? Her arm could stay up, but her hand hangs down limp."

Mina reached for a pencil and drew on top of her sketch. "Now?"

"Gimme that." He took the pencil from her and redrew the hand. "OK, better. Reminds me of _Victory_, a little. Speaking of, where did he finally stick it? This place is huge, but you don't have that kind of wall space here."

She frowned. "Hasn't moved yet."

Jason saw her face and backed off. "Oh. Well, I'm sure there's an airport somewhere that needs something to hang in their baggage claim. Anyway," he turned. "Mom! What do you think of the track lighting? I put it in! Well, helped. This smarty engineer guy did most of the work."

She led her parents out of the studio and into the guest room where they would be staying, Jason popping out with their mother to get a drink in the kitchen. Mina's father was silent as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Daddy? Are you OK?"

He picked up a throw pillow from the bed and tossed it a few times before his eyes sharpened, and he put it down quickly. He started rubbing his short beard that had a bit more gray than blonde in it. "Where is Kevin, anyway?"

"At work," she said. "He's going to meet us for dinner later."

Her father looked at her. Mina noticed that he looked tired, and a little overwhelmed, and felt suddenly strange in the room with him, like she was a tour guide at Buckingham Palace and he was the janitor. Both occupying the gilded cage, admiring their elegant surroundings, but collecting a paycheck at the end of the day and slouching back to their humble holes.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he said, attempting to straighten his shoulders. "Fine, fine, don't worry about me." He stood up and touched her lightly on the arm before heading out of the room. "Why don't you show me the rest of the place while your mom and brother get a head start on getting drunk?"

"OK." Mina went to the bed, picked up the pillow that her father had tossed aside, and saw that someone, probably her, had regrettably forgotten to remove the price tag. She threw it on the bed and left the room.

* * *

************************************************************

"Shit, shit." Amazingly, Kevin broke all previous records of swearing with the last two, setting a new personal best of thirty blue words in sixty seconds. "What's the time?"

"You are now an hour late," Priyam replied, checking his rearview mirror. "Most likely they have started without you and are wondering if you are even coming at all and probably everything is very tense. Would you like me to drive on the sidewalk, Mr. Chaston?"

"No. Wait, hold on, can you?" He rolled down the window to take a look. Unlikely, since there was a damn souvenirs cart blocking most of the sidewalk, along with all the stupid pedestrians. He slumped back in his seat and added another one to the record. "_Shit_." The first time that Mina's parents were visiting and he had to get tied up at work, run into traffic, and thus run late enough to look like a total ass in front of the people that might one day be his in-laws.

Priyam reached over and turned off the radio. "Sir, when I was young, before Vijaya and I were married, her father and mother did not approve of both me and my family. They expressed this to me in very few words."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. It was very uncomfortable many times."

Suddenly it seemed like Priyam may have all the answers. "What happened?"

"Oh, they died very soon after."

Kevin leaned his head back and sighed. "Great. Thanks."

"Not a problem, sir." Priyam glanced back in the mirror again. "But please realize that whatever you do, you cannot be worse than my son-in-law." He cleared his throat; usually once he got started on his lazy son-in-law, it was hard to stop him without drastic measure, like bailing out of the car at a random corner. "This weekend he worked only eight hours and was on the computer for fourteen playing that War of Worldcraft."

"Yeah, well, I worked twelve hours and Mina yelled at me for working on a weekend."

Priyam chuckled. "Miss Aino is a very funny girl. You make her very happy."

That was nice to hear. His Blackberry beeped, and he was surprised to see that it was Zach, instead of another "where are you?" message from Mina. _"38-25-36! Brn/blu wsh me luk!!!"_

He sent three words back in response. _"Wrap it, boy."_

It took another half an hour of Priyam yammering about his son-in-law before they arrived at the restaurant, which was some sort of trendy organic place that Jesse had picked, since he was casually dating one of the servers. Kevin realized that he hadn't eaten in the past twelve hours, which could be a contributing factor to his foul-assed mood, and threw up a prayer that they served some sort of cooked dead animal. Before entering, he stopped at the maitre-d' stand and discreetly slipped his credit card to the host. "For my table."

The maitre-d' glanced down, saw what type of plastic he had been handed, and nodded sharply.

Unlucky for him, they had saved him a seat between Mina and her father, but as he approached the table, Jesse sprung up in front of him like a ninja and dramatically threw his arms around him, squeezing him and running his hands down Kevin's back. "Kevin! You made it!" He squinted his eyes slightly and hissed in a low voice "Hug me back, dammit!"

He stuck his arms awkwardly around Jesse's skinny frame before something in his brain clicked and he realized what was up. "Is he looking?"

Jesse pulled away with a smile. "Oh hell yes! He practically dropped his tray, too! I should take you everywhere; you catch on a lot quicker than Jason."

"I didn't know why you were trying to hold my hand!" Jason objected, stabbing the olive in Raye's martini with his cocktail spear and popping it into his mouth. "Give me some warning the next time you want to make your boyfriend jealous."

Kevin slipped behind Raye, who smiled up at him when he touched her shoulder in greeting, and shook hands with Mina's father.

"Kevin!" Her mother's face was a bit bright as she stood to hug him. "Have I mentioned how much I loved that bowl you gave me?"

Mina muttered something that sounded like "fucking bowl" as he sat and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank _God_ you got here already!" Raye slurred, already a bit tipsy. "I couldn't eat so I drank, and now Jason is stealing my olives! Jesse, where's your boyfriend? I need new olives."

"He's not my boyfriend! Not yet."

He felt Mr. Aino's eyes on him. "God, I'm sorry for making you wait, it's inexcusably rude. You should have started without me."

"Oh we wouldn't do that!" Mrs. Aino said, a little too loudly. It seemed like she had consumed a few olives, herself. Mina sighed heavily.

His Blackberry beeped again. "Crap," he muttered, fumbling as he pried it out of his pocket. He barely opened the message before it went tumbling to the floor, coming to rest under Mr. Aino's chair.

Kevin's stomach clenched as he bent over to retrieve it; he had a pretty clear idea who it was, and if anything actually went right tonight, he would get to it before Mina's father did. "No, don't I got it—"

Too late. Mr. Aino picked it up, glanced down, and handed it back to Kevin with a strange look.

Zach's message, in huge font, was sprawled across the Blackberry's screen. _"PUSSY DROUGHT OVER FOR ZACHY! HOLLA!!!!!"_

Jesse's handsome server materialized over his shoulder. "Can I get you a drink, sir?"

Kevin coughed, his mouth dry. "Please."

* * *

"Zach says he's sorry. Again," Mina reported around the side of her phone. Kevin didn't respond from his position on the bed.

"What's that?" she stood and wandered to the bathroom, the phone still glued to her ear. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. No, my dad will get over it, Kevin—" She made a ridiculous face at him from the doorway. "—Is just being grouchy."

"Ask him why he's texting me when he's in bed with a girl."

"He wants to know why you're texting him when you're in bed with a girl." She cocked her head, listening. "He said that if you went for as long as he did without getting any, you'd be buying billboard space in Times Square. And that--" She paused. "—She was asleep anyway."

A thought entered his mind. "Is he still there?"

"Are you still there?" She paused. "He says no. He's at home. And he wants to know why—" A pause. "—If you're so interested why you don't get on the phone yourself."

"Tell him I'd rather he text it to me at inappropriate times."

"He says he's tired," Mina said, dancing in place. She noticed Kevin staring at her through half-lidded eyes. She smiled, did a quick hip roll, then turned her back, ran her free hand through her hair and did a slow wind all the way to the floor. She spun around and giggled at him, continuing to pop her hips in rhythm. "Zach says that her ass looked like Raye's—hey wait!" She stopped moving. "When have you seen Raye's butt? You guys have never met. Did you Google her?"

Kevin smirked at Zach's sudden rush to get off the phone. Mina snapped the phone shut and climbed in bed next to him. "You still bummed?"

"No."

"Liar. You've been brooding since we got home."

"I'm not."

She wiggled in closer, resting her chin against his arm and staring up at his face. "Are you worried about my dad?"

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Wouldn't you be? He barely spoke to me the entire night after he saw Moron's text message."

Mina stopped moving and thought about telling him about this afternoon, and her father's discomfort in the new apartment, and how she would catch him looking at her, sometimes, like she was a stranger he had just encountered instead of his daughter. What came out of her mouth was: "Well, tomorrow you've got work all day and you won't see him until my showing. Which, by the way." She ran a hand across the tight plane of his stomach. "Don't be late."

He put his hand over hers, wondering if he should share that her father made him a lot more nervous than originally anticipated. "I forgot—my parents are probably going to come, too. They're in town visiting at Serena and Darien's."

"Oh," she groaned, burying her face in her pillow. "Great." They were silent for a long stretch, both occupied with their thoughts.

Zach couldn't resist one last message. "_totl BJ lips 2! Fckn hot."_

_

* * *

  
_

**************************************************************

"I think Daddy is bored," Mina observed, watching her father hover in a corner between two of her works, trying to avoid talking to anyone who looked like they were under the influence of drugs. Which had to be fifty percent of the room at this point, and it sucked. Junkies never had money to buy.

"Well, he has been here for the last two hours," Raye pointed out, brushing her glorious hair over her shoulder. "Speaking of, when will I be released from duty?"

"Never. You're my moral support. And you're making me go to that councilman's fundraising thing and those stupid tickets were expensive."

Raye sniffed. "Oh, boo-hoo, your boyfriend just bought you a penthouse apartment. You can and will sit through one boring political fundraiser for my sake."

"So it's going to be boring, then?"

"Extremely. You're going to want to kill yourself boring."

Mina sighed and watched more of the crowd trickling in; in addition to her parents, who were visiting for the week, Makoto and Noah had brought Aja with them, and were trying to see if there were any benefits of exposing a toddler to the arts at a young age. So far she had declared one of Mina's favorite paintings as "ugly" and her favorite exhibit was the bathroom, which had self-flushing toilets. She had been asking to go potty about every five minutes.

"Hey, do you notice there's a lot of suits in here?"

Raye scanned the room again, standing on the tips of her toes. "There's like, three. Is that a lot?"

"For these kinds of shows, yes." She bit her finger absently. "I wonder why that is."

"Excuse me." She turned, and found herself face to face with one of the suits in question. "Someone said you're the artist who made these paintings here?"

"Uh, yeah, I am."

The guy cleared his throat and looked sideways, like he was afraid of being caught. "I'm looking to acquire one of the blue paintings that help you relax. I don't see any here."

"I'm sorry, the what?"

"The blue paintings. My colleague has one hanging in his office. It looks like it's underwater or something? He says it helps him relax. It must work because it's the only thing I've seen him put on his walls, and he's been in that office for over a year. He said I could get one here?"

"Oh." Kevin had seemed especially attracted to _Untitled 23_, and while she was unsure if it was the composition or the fact that she had painted most of it naked that had drawn him to that work, she had given it to him. Last she knew, it was hanging in his office at work.. "I, uh, I only painted one of those, so I don't—"

"What she means is, each one is unique, so she only had one of _that_ one," Raye interrupted, throwing back her shoulders and drawing her spine up to her full height. "I can show you some other works, if you like. I can find something that—_compliments_ your personality."

The man was staring at Raye with fire in his eyes as he nodded. Mina glanced quickly to see if Jason noticed, but he was busy mangling a Cure cover in the corner. Raye leaned in. "Twenty says I sell this yutz at least two. Which ones do you want to unload?"

"_Peace Tree._ Oh, and if you can swing it, _Vermont_. It weighs a ton and I don't want to pack it back up at the end of the night."

Raye blew a kiss at her and led the suit away.

"Miss Aino?" She turned, and faced a young woman with a dyed blonde bob, nose ring, and full tattoo sleeve up her arm. "Hi, I'm Sam Larin, I'm from _the City _magazine."

"Oh, hi!" Mina shook the woman's hand, a squirm of nervousness rolling through her stomach. There was only one possible way that a writer would be there. "Hi, hi, thanks for coming. My friend reads _The City_ like, religiously every Sunday. She loves it."

"Thanks." She peered around the room. "Great show."

Mina rubbed her palms together. "I hope so."

"I actually came tonight to see if you would be able to sit down for an interview with me. We're interested in doing a feature about you for next issue."

"Me?" She didn't mean to squeak the word out. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Not the cover, sorry, but we can give you some pages."

She nearly choked getting the words out. "Oh my God, I mean, yeah! Yes! Thanks! I would love to!"

"Good, good." The reporter pulled a card out of the back pocket of her hipster jeans. "Would this week work for you?"

Raye sidled up to her before she had a chance to respond. "Good thing you named that one _Peace Tree_ instead of what it really looks like, am I right? God, I love suckers with too much money!"

* * *

*****************************************************************

"Hey."

"Hey man," Kevin looked down at the small person pulling on his pant leg, surprised to see that she was wearing a fairly normal children's clothing instead of her usual spangled costume. "Hi, Aja. What happened to your—"

Noah cut him off loudly. "There's a little girl in another country that doesn't have many clothes, so we decided to send the Tinkerbell dress to her so that she can wear it now. We like to share." Aja nodded solemnly, repeating the last word in a small voice.

"Ah." He turned his head sideways to whisper. "Threw it or outgrew it?"

"Shitcanned the damn thing. It didn't survive the last spin cycle and I was sick of my daughter looking like a fairy hobo."

He laughed softly, and gestured across the room to Raye, who was standing in front of a huge painting with a guy in a suit. He used to be that guy, he thought. Repressed yuppie. Raye was probably taking him to the cleaners. "Cross your fingers that he buys that one. It weighs a ton and I don't want to have to pack it up again."

"I shall do that," Noah said. "Because if you have to pack stuff up later, it usually means that I do, too. Hey, isn't that Mina's father?"

"It is. They're staying with us this week."

Noah raised his eyebrows and took a drink. "How's that working out?"

"Well, thanks to Zach they think I'm a stupid frat boy, and I think—" He stopped and thought a moment. "They're uncomfortable around me. Especially her dad."

"Huh," Noah nodded into his glass.

"I think it's because of the apartment."

"OK."

"And maybe other stuff."

"How about the fact that you're sleeping with his daughter?"

"That, too."

"Because believe me, once you have one, that's all you think about. It makes you crazy."

"What do you think?"

Noah was watching Aja point towards the bathroom. "I don't know, go grab a beer with him or something. Actually," he quickly gave the room an once-over, "there's a place across the street that's pretty low key. Go now, before your parents get here. I'll come by in a half an hour to make sure he's not beating on you with a pool cue."

Kevin knew that Noah was a pretty smart guy, but this suggestion just rocketed him into Nobel Prize territory. "God, I feel like such a pussy."

"But you're still going to do it. Thirty minutes, bro. Do it."

The place across the street turned out to be an Irish pub, slightly better than average in that their shoes didn't automatically stick to the floor, but dark and grimy enough that the crowd across the street wouldn't migrate over. They found seats at the mostly empty bar, and Kevin resisted the urge to start ordering shots of Jameson; he thought that about four or five might give him enough sack to not start stuttering like a teenager. The only person that could get him anxious enough to binge drink was Mina, and by extension, anyone in her immediate family that wasn't Jason, especially the older man sitting next to him.

"So," Mr. Aino started, nodding at the bartender as he slid two beers across the counter.

Kevin couldn't think of anything to say because, he told himself, he was an idiot, so he nodded.

Mr. Aino cleared his throat. "You look like you could use something stronger."

They ordered up shots, and it occurred to Kevin that maybe Mina's father was just as nervous around him as he was. "Kippis," Mr. Aino raised his glass. "Finnish," he clarified at Kevin's perplexed expression. "Just like us."

"Cheers." They sat in silence for a few moments, idly watching the baseball game on the television propped over the bar. Kevin idly wondered if Zach was still considering buying a sports team when Mr. Aino put down his glass and interrupted his thoughts.

"Why did you buy that apartment for Mina?"

Kevin defaulted back to stupid mode; he knew this was coming, but hadn't counted her father to be so blunt about it. If the next question had anything to do with them sleeping together, he would order up a bottle. Of 151. "She needed a studio…" Even in his head, it sounded retarded, doubly so now that he said it out loud.

Mr. Aino's laugh was dry. "Mina needs a lot of things, to get her head on straight, for one, but that was…" he trailed off and shook his head, taking another swallow. "I guess what I'm trying to ask is what your intentions are."

Where the hell was Noah? He said a half hour; it must have been at least that long so far, that cock. The bartender must have noticed something was going down, because he hovered at the far corner, wiping glasses and ignoring them. "I think my intentions are obvious, sir."

Mr. Aino reached for his wallet, and pulled out a wrinkled paper, folded into fourths. "Here, I want to show you this. Be careful; it's pretty old."

Kevin took the paper, worn soft from years in creases, and carefully unfolded it. It was a sketch of an egg, with a chicken running in the background, a little crude, but still leaps and bounds above what he could do.

Mina's father was watching him. "That's the first thing Mina ever drew. She was only four, if can you believe it. I gave her some paper to keep her occupied while I watched a ball game, and I couldn't believe it when she showed it to me." His eyes, bright blue like his children's, were wistful. "My girl could barely tie her shoes but she could capture the world she saw with a number two pencil." He paused and nervously rubbed his face. "I know every father thinks their kid is the most special one in all of creation, and half of them won't shut up about it, but my girl…" He stared down at the pitted bar counter. "The world is a brighter place with her in it." He laughed to himself, softly. "Here I go, bragging about my kids. Sorry. I just—you know that she was engaged, once."

Kevin nodded; she had told him the basics, and he had gleaned some details from Raye and Darien, but for the most part, the subject of Casey was like Fight Club, and the first rule of Casey was that you didn't talk about Casey. Rule Number Three. Jason sometimes spit when his name was mentioned.

Mr. Aino continued. "I didn't know that he had basically thrown her out in the street until months after it happened, which is probably better for me, since I was so angry after that I couldn't sleep well for months. I know couples have their problems, and believe me, I've been through some myself, but I just couldn't understand how someone could claim to love my little girl, and want to share their life with her, and then hurt her and throw her away like she was nothing.

I don't think I could stand that happening to her again."

Kevin found the words that he couldn't before. "Mr. Aino." The older man turned to face him. "That will never happen again. I assure you."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Kevin reached and folded the picture again, and handed it back to him. "I didn't need to see this to know she's special. She shows me, every day."

Mina's father visibly relaxed as he tucked the paper lovingly into his wallet. "I pretty much knew you were different; I just needed to hear you say it to my face. When you have a daughter, you'll understand.

Now," He waved the bartender over. "I'll admit, I was kind of nervous bringing this up to you. Want another drink?"

"God, yes." Mr. Aino reflected a moment.

"Feel better?"

"Getting there." Off to the side, he noticed Noah entering the bar, followed closely by his father, who had obviously escaped the show and looked as if he had stepped in through the gates of heaven. _Oh crap._ They had to wrap this up before Will had a chance to introduce them to the obnoxious Irish drunk facet of his personality.

"Good, I'll keep this last part short. And this is the last time you'll get crap from me." He waited until the newly filled shotglass was halfway to Kevin's mouth before continuing. "Make damn sure you marry her if you knock her up."

Choking on Jameson fucking _hurt_, but that was probably Mr. Aino's intention.

* * *

Mina held out her wineglass out to the waitress. "Fill me, please." She drained her glass in seconds as Makoto watched her, blinking.

"You know, you can leave some of that for the rest of us."

Mina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Please shut up. I need liquid courage right now. How do I look?"

Makoto gave her a mom look. "Drunker?"

"Good, that's what I was going for." She threw her hair back and crossed the room, over to a solitary woman who was holding a glass of red and examining a painting of a skeletal black tree in a field of ash. "Mrs. Chaston?" The woman turned to her, her hair and clothing typically immaculate. Mina wondered if she bought sweater sets in bulk as she reached out and nervously placed a hand on the older woman's shoulder. Cashmere. Again, typical. "Thank you for coming. It's great to see you again."

Mrs. Chaston smiled tightly, which was probably the only way she knew how. "Mina, good to see you." She gestured at the painting. "Very nice."

"Thank you." God, why couldn't she think of anything to say? It wasn't like this was the first time they had met, and it really was a big deal that Kevin's mother had taken time out from…whatever she did to stop by her show, and now that she had her undivided attention, she couldn't think of squat to say.

Mrs. Chaston turned back to the painting. "I apologize for my husband's absence. Apparently he found out from one of Kevin's friends that there is a gathering across the street, and my husband has quite the affinity for Irish pubs, even though he's only got a drop of Irish in him." She sniffed. "If that much."

"Oh, yeah, my dad went with them." Actually, they had been gone a long time, and she wondered what the hell they were doing there for so long. "My mother's been looking for him all night. I think she wants to leave soon."

"Your mother is here?"

"Um, yeah, my parents are visiting for the week." Mina winced as Jason hit a bad chord.

Kevin's mother smiled again, this time a little warmer. "I would like to meet her."

Before they had a chance to move, a couple stepped in front of them, blocking their view of the painting. It was another suit, and his partner was a very tanned, very surgically enhanced woman with matching Louis Vuitton logo boots, belt, and bag. "What do you think about this one?" the suit asked the girl, who dramatically rolled her eyes.

"I don't know! Can we go now? All these paintings suck. They're so ugly and creepy."

"This one's not too bad."

The woman scoffed and pushed her bangs off her face with a manicured hand. "Yes, it is. Why are we looking at this crap again? Let's go to Tao."

Mina exhaled. This kind of reaction was pretty commonplace in her line of work; after all, not everyone had the same taste, exhibited in the bathroom painting that was constantly being regifted between Kevin and Darien, but that didn't mean it didn't absolutely suck when it was shoved right in your face, and rudely. And, like now, ignoring it was the most comfortable, safe bet.

Mrs. Chaston apparently had a different idea.

She stepped up and locked eyes with the woman, her gray eyes sharp as a steel file, and seemed to correct her perfect posture even further. If looks could kill, the other woman would be comfortably tucked in for a dirt nap the day before yesterday. She took Mina by the elbow. "Come, let's find your mother, dear. You don't have to listen to this."

The shock didn't wear off as she was led away by Kevin's mother. "Wow, uh, thanks. You didn't have to do that for me, though."

Mrs. Chaston graced her with a small glance. "Don't be foolish, dear. How dare she judge you when she's not even part of our family."

_Interesting choice of pronoun, _Mina thought, a flush of joy running through her head.

* * *

**************************************************

"Don't." Somewhere under the covers, Kevin moved her hand away from his body. She shifted, trying from another angle.

"No, don't."

She didn't stop trying, using both hands now, cruising on a high that had sustained her through the rest of the show, the intolerable cleanup, and late night Chinese takeout. Raye's gullible yuppie had taken home two of her works and one of Jesse's, she had a tentative meeting set up with the writer from _The City_, Kevin's mother had practically cut a bitch for her sake, and to top it off, she had snagged the last crab Rangoon moments before her brother could reach for it. All together a perfect night, and now she wanted to top it off in the perfect way.

Kevin grabbed both of her wrists with one hand and tucked himself into a defensive position. "Mina."

"What? What's the problem?" She giggled, wriggling until she was on top of him, brushing her barely-covered breasts against his face.

He rolled over, pinning her to the mattress in a last ditch effort that proved ineffective as she started grinding against his hip. "We can't. Your father is right in the other room."

She stopped moving "What?"

"He might hear us."

She glanced across the room. "There's like, fifteen feet between us and the wall, and on the other side, there's another huge space before you get to the bed, and my parents are guaranteed sleeping already…"

"I don't want him to hear anything. And I've barely got him to somewhat like me…stop, stop." He begged. She didn't stop.

"We can be quiet." She knew he couldn't hold out forever; he had returned from the watering hole with Noah and their fathers and hadn't been in the gallery for five minutes before accidentally kicking over an umbrella stand. Jason was incensed that they hadn't waited for him.

"You're never quiet." He turned so that they lay face to face. "Can I ask you something?"

"OK."

Kevin stared into her eyes, the same color as her expensive paint, and hesitated. He didn't know how to start this; there were a lot of questions sitting in the back of his mind. "Why won't you talk to me about Casey?"

She slid her hands out of his loosened grip, her mood shifting instantly. "Why do you want to know?"

_Because you're still carrying it. Because I want you to know that I would never do what he did to you, whatever it was. Because I love you so much I want to erase every bad thing that ever happened to you in your life and give you nothing but happiness from now on. _

"Because."

She couldn't meet his eye. "I don't like talking about it." _Because he betrayed me. Because what he said might be true. Because I'm afraid that if I talk about it, it will happen again and I'll lose you, and I love you so much but you don't deserve someone so screwed up. _"Besides, it's not a big deal like everyone makes it out to be."

She was lying, and he let her.

* * *

AN: Mucho thanks to **Ninx** for being the other half of my brain! Seriously, this wouldn't be the same story without her input. Have you heard of her? Girl's a genius, and writes total kick-assed fics, too! Search livejournal dot com for "ramblinprose" and prepare to be blown away by her mightiness! She's legendary, for anyone who's read **Four Lovers **or **The Beast.**

Also, sorry, but Ami's not going to appear in this series! I'm giving her her own story, but time wise it doesn't happen until after _Economics_, so I can't start hers until this one's finished without giving plot points away. Just pretend she is happy doing her thing, waiting patiently until she joins this circle of awesome, loving, confused people!


	5. Chapter 5: Fancy Oyster Spit

Much thanks to my kick assed betas and all those who kept kicking me in the ass to finish this bad boy!

**CHAPTER FIVE: FANCY OYSTER SPIT**

"I'm in your house! Put on clothing!"

The last thing Mina wanted to hear at—what time was it? Seven? Eight? —on a Saturday morning was Darien's voice yelling at her from the front door while she was still in bed. And naked. But at least she got the courtesy of a warning; Kevin had filled her in on some stories about when they had been roommates, and apparently Darien had a hard time with the concept of boundaries. Thankfully, they had never manifested before in the history of his and Mina's friendship. They had speculated that it had something to do with growing up in foster homes, where resources were few and opportunities limited, or maybe just the general dickishness in his personality. Mina picked the sleep sand out of her eyes and yawned, then reached over and gently shook Kevin's arm. "Darien's—"

"—here," he finished for her, without opening his eyes. If she didn't know him like she did, it would appear to her that there was still some Ambien floating in his system.

"Are you going to wake up?"

"No. Get his key. Stab him in the eye with it."

She pressed her face into his shoulder, rubbing her nose against his warm skin. "It's technically Serena's key. If we take back Serena's key, then we have to take back Jason's key, and—" She broke off and yawned again. They had had a late, interesting night that left smudges of watercolor on the sheets and an accidental, crescent-shaped fingernail puncture on his neck, courtesy of unintentional mid-orgasm face grab by hers truly. There was not a lot of sexy in cleaning up blood.

"I'm using your coffee maker!"

Mina pushed herself up into a sitting position and started searching for clothing. It was cold outside the pocket of his body heat. "Are you coming?"

"Sleeping," came the muttered response. She pulled a t-shirt over her head, the one with the Warhol soup cans, and leaned over to kiss the side of his closed eyelid, brushing her lips softly against the fan of lashes.

"I'm going through your refrigerator! How old is this milk?"

"I'll go get rid of him." She shrugged on a pair of shorts and left her boyfriend sleeping in a cocoon of down comforter.

Darien was poking through the kitchen cabinets, already impeccably dressed, a trait he shared with his wife. She pondered if they even owned anything as mundane as a t-shirt; Serena had come to yoga class once wearing cashmere sweatpants. He looked up at her. "Jesus, Mina, a bra please? It's cold in here."

_Shit_. She knew she forgot something in her haste to get dressed. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest, where she knew that headlights were forming. "I forgot, shut up. It's early."

He stopped fiddling with boxes and canisters and quickly kissed the top of her head in greeting. "You know, the correct response to that would be: 'It's my house, Darien, I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, so shut the hell up and tell me why you're here.'"

"OK." She slid onto one of the stools. "Stop staring at my nipples and tell me why you're here."

He shoved a stack of papers as thick as a phone book across the island. "Sign this. You're hiring me."

"Huh?"

"I put tabs where you have to initial, and then sign on the bottom line, last page. I made a copy for you and today is the, uh, fourteenth, so don't forget that. Hey, is this sugar or salt?" He licked some white crystals off of his fingertip. "Is this that weirdo organic sugar that they sell at Whole Foods? I think it's just regular sugar sprayed with silicone or something, because it gives this guy I work with the runs."

Mina was slowly paging through the huge document, vaguely remembering signing one of these before. "Why am I hiring you? I'm not in Liquid Sugar anymore, I don't need an agent."

"Like hell you don't." He pulled something out from underneath his jacket. "Read this and then tell me you don't need an agent."

It was a copy of _The City_ magazine, a day before it hit the stands. "Oh, my God!" Mina smiled and started flipping through, searching for her article. "Where did you get this? Wait, _how _did you get this?"

Darien was pouring coffee. "Never mind that. Did you read the reporter's draft before she submitted it to her desk?"

"Yes! I think so. Wait, no. I got busy with Serena's book and I just told her it was OK."

The hand holding the careen jerked and splattered the countertop with a spreckle of brown liquid. "Argh, Mina!"

Her head shot up. "What? All we did was talk about my life for like, an hour. There's not much you can do with that."

He raised a dark eyebrow at her. "Wonderful. Great. Smooth move."

"Cute picture!" Jesse had taken the picture that they used of her tilting her head and smiling charmingly at the camera, wearing black and white to matchthe small portion of _Victory_ behind her.

"Read!"

She did, roiling with excitement and a little embarrassment as she read words that someone else had written about her life. "A 'coquette with charcoal'? What the hell?"

"I know. Complete hack job. I thought you said this reporter was legit."

"I thought so, too." She could feel a headache forming as she continued reading, first through a brief mention of her work at the Academy, then a few too many paragraphs about Liquid Sugar, two lines about _Victory_, and then an enormous segue into her relationship with well-known contemporary street artist and illustrator, Casey "Ace" Kytowe, best known for his work on—"What the hell!"

"I see you've gotten to the good part," Darien remarked dryly, shoving the contract forward again. "The tabs. I put the tabs where you're supposed to sign."

A loud "OW!" came from the back bedroom. They both ignored it.

A sickening chill washed over her as she read on, her life's accomplishments broken down in short chunks of text. Her time as a professional burlesque dancer was highlighted, as was her lengthy relationship with a "guerilla artist" extraordinaire, and then closed with small writeups of her recent shows, her upcoming debut as a children's book illustrator, and her appearances at recent high-profile events with her new boyfriend, a wealthy financier, who was also the buyer of her best-known work to date. Mina put the magazine down and turned to Darien, swallowing compulsively. "Got a pen?"

"Always." He pulled one from his pocket and handed it over, nodding approvingly as she initialed and signed next to the tabs. "Thank you."

She let her head sink to the marble countertop. "This is a freaking nightmare. It was supposed to be all about my work."

"Yes it was."

"And now it looks like I'm some ex-stripper famewhore who happens to draw stuff when I'm not screwing other artists or rich buyers." She lifted her head. "Darien, what am I going to do? This is my reputation that's on that line! I've worked…I mean, I'm not ashamed of anything, but—"

Darien lifted his eyebrows at her across the table.

She took a breath. "Should I be?"

He slammed his coffee cup down on the countertop so hard, it almost shattered. "Mina. Seriously."

"But—"

"No. Stop it." His voice was terrifying; she had heard it before, when he had torn into a club manager that had allowed a photographer to take pictures of the girls in the dressing room without their knowledge. "Do not, _ever_, base your opinion of yourself on what someone else thinks. You have people that know the real you and don't give a fuck what someone wrote about in a magazine, who love you even if every word was true, which it is emphatically _not_. In fact, you have someone who loves you so much that he would probably shove red-hot safety pins up his urethra if every copy of this asspaper would disappear into thin air, so please stop with the 'shoulda-woulda-coulda' crap because now we have work to do." He pulled out his phone and started dialing. "OK, now that I'm officially your agent—again—I need that red scribbly thing you did that's at the gallery sent over to my assistant by Monday, along with whatever else the set designer wants to use, so give Jesse a call and let him know that we're raiding the stash."

"Set designer?"

"Yeah, Cameron Diaz is shooting some horrible new rom-com crap and your pieces are going to be in her character's bedroom for the eight seconds that she sleeps with Patrick Dempsey. Hey, it's only eight seconds, but don't be surprised if she insists on keeping the paintings. Oh, and here's a tip: let her.

Also, I'm now going to call the _Times_ and bitch out that hack reporter who should have been up front with you if she wanted to write a story about your Sugar days and who you're sleeping with, past and present, but since _you didn't have an agent _and gave her permission to go to print with that tripe, there's not much I can do at this point besides empty threats that she'll be back to the city desk writing obits for the rest of her career. Oh, and that band that wants your art for its album cover?"

"Mark's band? Yeah. That's Jason's friend."

Darien looked almost manic. "Oh. Jason's friends. Good. Great. But they're not_ my_ friends, so I need to get in touch with their manager and get the details. Did they give you anything in writing yet? No? OK, now let's see if I can get you a different interview, something not as mainstream, I'm thinking _Swindle_ or something, and maybe you should cut your hair a bit, so you look different than the picture they ran in _The City_—yeah, hi? Darien Chiba. I need to speak with uh, Something Larin?"

Mina turned to see Kevin shuffling out of the hallway, shirtless and wearing glasses, holding out a delicate pink and brown, formerly high-heeled sandal.

"Sorry, I stepped on one of your shoes. The heel came off."

Her heart thumped like a motorboat. "Oh my Christ."

"What?"

"That's not my shoe; that's Raye's shoe."

"Really?

Her reaction would probably have been very different if she hadn't just realized that an entire city was about to read all the sordid details of her life's past. OK, maybe just the subscribers to the Sunday magazine, but her best friend read that! "You broke Raye's shoe! She's going to kill me! No, really, I scuffed one once, and that bitch pinched me on the arm." She sagged in her seat. "Oh, crap I'm dead. I'm dead and humiliated." She snatched the shoe from his hand, accidentally using a bit too much force, and started wringing it between her hands like it was a dishrag.

Luckily, he either didn't notice or, more likely, ignored it. "What's going on?"

She passed the paper to him and settled back with her cup of coffee while he read. He was a much more careful reader than she was, and it took longer.

Darien was fluttering in the background, practically yelling into his phone. "So, what do you think?" she asked, absently playing with the strap on Raye's broken shoe.

He placed it down carefully. "That's more than you've ever told me about Casey."

It felt like she had been stabbed in the gut with an icicle. "Please, can we not?"

Behind her, Darien hung up the phone emphatically and let out a high breath. "Goddamn it I love my job! Spinning people's lives, making them jump, getting everyone to do what I want! It makes me feel like King of the Goddamn Earth!" He stopped, a huge grin on his face, and clapped Kevin on the back. "Morning, lazy ass. What the hell happened to your neck?"

* * *

He crept up behind her as she scribbled on a pad with paint markers, the fumes strong enough to get a VW van full of Phish-listening college hippies seeing trails. "Are you all right?"

Mina lifted her head to look at him, then her pad to reveal her drawing. A jagged, screaming mouth was shouting the word "FUCK" graffiti-style, surrounded by exploding confetti and pointed crescents.

Kevin grimaced. "Anything I can do?"

Probably not. Although she appreciated his concern, considering that she had been a miserable bitch the whole day, alternating between moping and raging, stubbornly ignoring the unfinished illustrations for Serena's book hanging in the studio. She just didn't feel like drawing fucking princesses right now. But when he reached over and rubbed the top of her hand with his fingertips, gray eyes blinking behind his glasses, something inside snapped off. She sighed, pushing away the markers. "Can we get out of here for a while? Go for a walk or something?"

The sun was sinking quickly, casting glowing orange shapes across the asphalt and concrete as it peeked between buildings. The slight breeze that tossed the papery leaves of the trees along the street picked up strands of her hair and blew them into a blond tumbleweed. Mina reached up and pulled it back; she needed a haircut. Maybe Raye could meet her tomorrow and they could go together.

Kevin kicked a rock out of his way, his hands in his pockets. "Where are we going?"

"Do we always have to be going somewhere? Can't we just walk and not worry about it?" Maybe the grouchy wasn't out of her system, and she was ashamed. He hadn't done anything except be the only person who hadn't done something to piss her off that day. "I'm sorry." She leaned over as they walked and nudged into him. "This was a shitty day."

He took her hand in his as they headed back, and she took it as a sign that he was willing to overlook her horrible mood, at least for the meantime. It wasn't enough to make her sure.

* * *

So she made it up to him that night.

The moonlight trickling into the bedroom cast a blue shade over the white sheets and her pale body as she straddled him, rocking slowly.

Beneath her, his eyes were closed, and when he opened them and saw her sitting astride him, he smiled up at her.

He waited until her body stopped shuddering before rolling her over and burying himself inside, starting slowly and then moving faster, aroused by the soft cries that she was made, until everything went black and his brain shut off and he came, hard, his face pressed into her neck. She stared at the ceiling as he collapsed on her, trying to catch his breath.

They settled into the nest of covers and sheets and pressed their bodies together as sleep began to overtake them. "Hey," he whispered.

Mina had her eyes shut. "Hmm?"

He pulled her hand up to his face and kissed it. "I love you."

"I love you," she echoed automatically, wondering if there was going to be more of this, or if she could go to sleep and wake up when everything blew over.

There was more. "Are you OK? I mean, with…" His voice trailed off.

Her eyes opened and focused on nothing in the dark room. "Yeah. I'm fine."

He pulled her closer as she slowly relaxed and then began to succumb to her exhaustion. Sleep didn't come so easily to him, and he lay awake after her breathing became rhythmic, thinking about what she had said.

She was not being truthful. He knew this, because if she had, if she had been really fine, she wouldn't keep the hint of question in her reply. She would list all the reasons that she was fine; emphasizing the big ones, really hammering on the right one, well after her point was made. She was never fine, this girl of his. She was content, excited, elated, despondent, distressed, enraged. But not just "fine. Never just "fine".

He had to fix it.

* * *

He made the call on Monday morning while waiting in line for coffee, hoping that his sister was actually even awake. Makoto spotted him at the end of the line and waved him to the side. He threw her two fingers to make it a double; they had a gloriously efficient system working by now. "What are you doing today?"

"Um, meeting with Amy, lunch with Mom, and then we're going shopping for Daddy's birthday present. You remembered it's his birthday, right?"

_Nope._ "Yes." Makoto slid a cup over to him and waved off the money he tried to hand her--all part of their routine. He shoved it into the tip cup instead. She flipped him off, and he had to juggle his phone and cup to return the gesture, eliciting stares from the other customers. "Can you do me a favor?" Some guy threw him a dirty look as he exited.

"Don't worry, I know you suck at this kind of thing. I planned on getting him something from you, too."

"Not for Dad, for Mina."

He could practically hear her eyes perking up. "Really? What's the occasion?"

He burned his tongue as he slid into the car; he and Makoto had differing ideas of what constituted "extra-hot". Apparently hers was "the inside of a nuclear reactor". "Her interview in _The City_."

"Oh that." Serena was trying to be intentionally blasé. "I didn't even read it really well, and we needed the paper for Luna's litter box, anyway."

"Well, she's pretty upset about it, naturally. I want to—"

Serena understood immediately. "Say no more. Why don't you take her on vacation or something? Darien took me to Cabo after he missed my book release party."

"I can't, I have to go to Beijing next week, and then I've got an account that—"

"OK, fine, Senor Importante. What's the last thing you bought her? Besides an apartment."

"Uh," he had to think for a moment. "Health insurance."

"Oh, how sexy," Serena muttered, her voice dry. Kevin frowned; she hadn't been the one who sat in an overcrowded city emergency room literally all night, holding Mina's bleeding hand together and getting coughed on by a homeless guy with probable hepatitis. She hadn't even wanted to go to the hospital in the first place, obviously having experience in the uninsured health system that he didn't, and relenting only after losing enough blood that he insisted. The next morning he had listened bleary-eyed to Zach's forty-five minute lecture on America's broken health care system while securing full coverage for Mina and donating enough to the hospital to hopefully replace their third-world triage rooms.

Serena broke his train of thought. "So give me a baseline here."

He did; she squealed. "Oh my God! This is going to be so much fun! She is going to DIE."

"I hope _not_."

"Oh stop it, you know what I mean!"

"Just don't get anything weird."

"My GOD, it's like you don't know me at all! I'm not going to do anything weird." He heard a door shut in the background. "OK, wait, what's 'weird'?"

"Nothing with logos."

"Duh. Next?"

"Uh, nothing that came out of a mine in Africa."

Kevin had to pull the phone away from his ear as she loudly exhaled into the receiver. "You're killing me here. You just eliminated like ninety percent of what I had in mind."

"I don't make the rules about this; she does." And Zach had a different forty-five minute speech about conflict diamonds to back her up.

"OK, I'll try and work with that, I guess." Serena didn't sound too convinced. "Anything else?"

"Yes." He fumbled around for the Post-it that had the results of his quick investigation that morning. "I need a pair of shoes. Size seven and a half."

"You're a size thirteen, weirdo."

"Women's shoes."

A pause. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

He rolled his eyes hard enough to change the polar axis of the Earth. "They're for Raye."

"Why are you buying shoes for Raye?"

"Why are you asking so many goddamn questions?"

"I'm telling Mom that you're swearing at me!"

He sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Can you do this today?"

"Fine. Since you asked so nicely, I will work my magic and hopefully make your girlfriend so happy that she won't notice you're buying another woman new shoes." She took a breath. "Weirdo."

* * *

He beat her home, for once.

"Oh, what is that?" Mina stuck her nose above the fragrant steam emitting from the skillet. She held her face up for a kiss.

He bent down and obliged. "I'm not really sure; I just started dumping whatever leftovers we had in the refrigerator in plastic containers and added garlic and oil." He nodded to the test subject perched on the counter, licking a recently emptied plate. "The cat seems to like it."

"That cat will eat pretty much anything," she said, peering closer. "I saw him eat a cockroach once. Are those raisins in there?"

"Probably." He reached for the bottle of Sriracha sauce and gave his concoction a generous squirt. "Needs more red."

Mina couldn't hold back the laughter that erupted like a burst fire hydrant as she headed towards the fridge. "That's either going to turn out to be incredible crap or absolute crap."

"I'd put my money on absolute crap." He smiled to himself. "You're in a good mood."

She popped open a can of Hansen's and took a huge swallow. "Oh yes! Two really good reasons for that! Actually, scratch that, _three_ really good reasons for that!

First, Raye made me donate blood with her this morning and I've been lightheaded since then."

Kevin reached over and dumped a container of leftover spaghetti to the growing mass, which was starting to burn. He turned down the heat. "Then you're really going to have to eat this. What else?"

"OK, this is huge, but I realized that one stupid article isn't going to break me forever. I mean, like, Warhol and Apple got crucified for embracing market culture by better critics than what's her face, and they didn't just roll over and die after that. So this is just going to have be my crappy willstone to carry until I put out another something fabulous that people can't ignore."

The raisins were emitting a funny smell as they cooked with the pasta. Maybe tofu would be the equalizer, Kevin thought as he dumped some in and waited for the other part of that story to emerge.

She relented under his sideways gaze. "OK, and Raye threatened to cut off my finger if I didn't stop whining about it. She even showed me the scissors she was going to use."

"Ah." He watched her jump onto the counter and rub the cat's face. "What's the last thing?"

Mina was practically bouncing with excitement. "Actually, I need your help with this part. Next week is Jesse's birthday, and you know how bummed out he's been since that stupid waiter dumped him, so…I thought it would be like, fantastically awesome if we could throw him a party!" She took a breath before continuing. "I mean, like here. At this place." Her head titled to get a better look at his expression. "What do you think?"

Kevin put a lid on the skillet. "I think it's a great idea."

"Really?" He nodded. Mina squealed and jumped off of the counter and grabbed him. "Oh my God, thank you! Jesse's going to freaking lose it, he's been bugging me about having a party for ages now. This is going to be fun, I swear."

He pulled her back, reveling in the glow of her electric smile. "Give Serena a call tomorrow. She has a really good event planner."

"Event planner? Why? We could just do it. I'll let you tend the bar," she teased.

"I won't be here for it. I have to go to Beijing, remember?"

Her face immediately collapsed. "Wait, wait, really?"

"Yes. I told you before. I even wrote it down and stuck it to the fridge." Sure enough, a yellow square of Post-It paper was buried smack in the middle of an underwear _David _dress-up kit and about a million magnetic poetry words. Mina pulled it off with numb fingers.

"Oh, crap." She crumpled the paper in her fist. "Never mind, then."

"Why?"

"Well, you're not going to be here."

"So?" Kevin pulled the lid off the skillet and stirred. "I don't have to be here for you to have a party. It's your house, too."

She was looking at him strangely. "What?" he said. "I'm serious. Do it. Have a good time; get Jesse wasted, and make sure no one steals anything. You'll have fun."

She sidled up and leaned her head against his arm. "It won't be fun if you're not here."

His face reddened, betraying him yet again. "Well, thank you. But you will have fun." He stuck in a finger in and tasted his creation. "Want to try this?"

She poked a fork in and took a bite. "Oh my God!"

"What?" She was smiling and nodding. "Is it good?"

She swallowed. "No! In fact, it's freaking terrible! But if you'll just move, please, and let me try something…"

Somehow adding brown sauce and a ton of different vegetables took it from culinary horrorshow to mostly palatable. Kevin waited until they were finished eating to spring it on her. "I got you something."

"Really?" Mina had actually gotten him something, too, but it was just a sticker she had filched from the blood bank. She had planned to stick it to his forehead that night while he slept. "What for?"

That question remained unanswered. "It's on the dresser."

Mina felt herself drawn to the box, almost magnetically attracted to what was inside. She had to run her fingers down the glossy surface, savoring the newness of the edges before she tore it open. For the second time that night, she screamed with glee. "Oh, they're incredible! Thank you!"

_They're? _"No, not on the bed, the dresser!" He got up and went to the bedroom, and then saw why she missed the box: the damn cat was sitting on it, completely obliterating it with its white, furry bulk. He shoved him aside. "Move it, you."

Mina lowered the beautifully tiered, cream-colored sandal with silk flowers adorning the vamp back into the box. "This isn't it?"

"Um, no, those are for Raye. _This _is for you."

She moved the Manolos aside and took the wooden box from him; it was the size of a hardback book. "What is this?"

Kevin nearly imploded. Why did people always ask that question when they could just find out? "Open it."

She pushed the lid forward. Her first thought was that they were fakes; they had to be, because she had never seen anything like this in her life, hadn't even entertained something like this existed. Well, existed in real life, at least, outside of museums and pictures in coffee table books. She ran one finger down the line, touching briefly on each surface. "Is this—" She stopped herself before asking if they were real, of _course_ they were real, Kevin wasn't the type that would even entertain buying replicas. "—for me?" she finished.

She had him embarrassed again; his face was beet-red. "Of course."

Mina looked down at it again, the same tight feeling crawling through her body as when she had seen her studio for the first time. "But, why?"

"Because I wanted to." He sat next to her on the bed and took the box from her hands. "Let me help."

The smooth orbs were cool against her skin, resting inches below her collarbone, and a bit heavy, to tell the truth. Mina had only tried on her mother's strands when she was younger, and these were definitely not her mother's pearls. Each one was the size of a marble, and a deep gold of the hottest sunshine. She got up and looked in the mirror, not noticing that her face was still frozen in shock. The pearls glowed against her skin, picking up the golden tint in her complexion and contrasting with the blue of her eyes. It actually looked…very nice.

Kevin was watching her skeptically. "You don't like it?"

She turned her body towards him, but her face remained pointed towards the mirror. "No, no…" Her hand lifted into view again as she touched them again. "I just don't understand—why did you do this?"

He was getting irritated. "Why do you keep asking that? If you hate it, just say so."

"No, I don't hate it, I just," she stopped, unsure of how to best articulate what she was feeling, without revealing too much. She didn't know how to explain that everything he gave her made her feel like another point went in his favor, and between this, the apartment, art materials, food, clothing, everything--she would never catch up. He would always be ahead, and the farther he was ahead, the less she counted.

The less he would need her.

"I like it. I do." It sounded forced, and she winced. "But you really, really didn't have to."

His eyes were dark behind his glasses as he got up and started walking away. "Forget it."

"Kevin!"

"What?"

"Stop!" She broke out of her daze and planted herself in front of him. "I-I'm sorry, OK? I just really don't understand why you felt you had to get me, no, wait, that came out wrong. It's too much, I—you know—I just—you didn't have to do this."

She jumped at the volume of his voice when he responded. "I know! OK? I didn't have to, but I wanted to." He turned away from her. "And if you don't like it, you could just fucking say so."

He had never, ever sworn at her before.

Mina retreated to her studio, and crawled into bed long after he was asleep.

* * *

"Fuck me with a cactus!"

Mina nearly knocked her head against the edge of the table. She had been reaching down to pick up her dropped spoon when Jesse yelled loud enough to wake the dead. Which is what she felt like after the last few days.

He was pointing at the back of her neck, where her hair had slid forward. "OK, I'll admit it, at first I thought it was a piece of crappy plastic that you bought from a street vendor or something, and I was fully prepared to mock you for going so gaudy during a weekday until I saw this!" His hand darted to her neck and swiveled the strand until the gold clasp was in front.

"Wait, what?" Makoto frowned.

Jesse slid his fingers under the clasp and held it out. Mina had no choice but to lean forward over the table with him. "The clasp, honey, the clasp. Gold pave Italian clasp; they don't stick these on crap from Claire's. This means—" He let out a short gasp. "These are real! Did Kevin give you these?"

Mina pulled the gold pearls back and smoothed them back into place. "Yep. Unfortunately."

Jesse spluttered. "What the hell do you mean, 'unfortunately', you ungrateful little diva! Furthermore, what the hell are you doing, wearing them to coffee with us! Those should be worn to like, the _opera_." Jesse had a glorified image of opera; Mina thought that he truly believed that he would never make it into society until he had attended at least one. If only he knew how stultifying it was.

She kept one hand against the strand as she took a sip of her latte. "I have to wear them until I can prove to Kevin that I like them."

"You don't like them?" Makoto asked, looking more confused than ever. "Why not?"

"Yes, why not?" Jesse echoed.

Mina squirmed under her friends' penetrating gazes. There was no way they could understand it. "I do like them, I just—" She ran through the story again.

Jesse was giving her the stare he usually reserved for sports fans that wore wigs and painted their bodies team colors in winter. "What the fuck, Mina?"

"So wait, you were OK with the shoes, but not the necklace?" Makoto asked.

Jesse patted her hand. "Oh, Mako, Mako, dear, honey, dear! Those shoes were a few hundred bucks. This," he pointed to Mina's neck. "Is easily a few thousand." He had a thought, and reached for his bag and produced his laptop. "In fact, let's Google the bugger! Mako, have I ever told you how much I love you for giving us free wifi?"

She was still staring at Mina with a befuddled expression. "Wait, you mean those are real?"

"Really deally, baby." He waited for his computer to load. "Mina, please tell me you dropped to your knees and gave him a blowjob for the ages. Anything less and you should be publicly flogged."

She focused on the diminishing foam in her cooling coffee cup. "Actually, we kind of fought about it." She could tell that Makoto and Jesse were exchanging looks over her head, mentally saying the same things that they always did. "It's my fault; he just wanted to get me something nice, and I had to be all weird about it."

Jesse's eyes were bigger than silver dollars as he stared at his laptop screen. "'Something nice' is the fucking understatement of the year, honey." He turned it so that they could see. "You're wearing the average American's yearly salary around your neck."

Makoto clapped a hand to her mouth, and even Mina was taken aback. She knew they were expensive, but not so completely out of this world. The gnawing pain was back in her stomach, because unlike the apartment, this was not something that was shared. Kevin wasn't getting anything out of this; his only reward was making her happy, and it wasn't working. The rope of pearls felt like a chain around her neck.

Makoto found her voice. "Are there really supposed to be that many zeros?"

Jesse nodded slowly. "Mina, that's some goddamn fancy oyster spit you've got there. Please tell me you'll make nice and blow the poor fool before I do."

* * *

He had packing down to an exact science, but she decided to help anyway, with "help" meaning that she sat cross-legged on the bed with a sketchpad and watched him fold shirts into perfect squares and fit them into the suitcase with military precision. Mina's method of folding more interpretive than functional, so she had relegated herself to clothing that she could cram in randomly, like socks and underwear.

No sooner had she stuck the articles in than he pulled them out and refolded them.

She went back to her sketchpad, the light scratching of the pencil adding to the shuffling mix of quiet activity that were the only sounds in the room.

The silence was getting to him. "What are you drawing?"

The paper made a rustling noise as she flipped the page. "Nothing. Just doodling." She was wearing the pearls with her sleepwear, unintentionally creating a peculiar mismatch with the white cotton tank top and pink bikini panties. The pearls had become a permanent fixture of her wardrobe, even when it clashed horribly. He had told her she could take them off, but they still appeared around her neck first thing in the morning, and remained there until she placed them back in their wooden box before turning in.

Kevin watched her pencil move, and wished that she would pull her hair back; it was falling around her head, obstructing his view of her face. If only he could see her, read her, it may quell the tide of anxiety that ratcheted up through him during every silent minute

A white flash darted in his peripheral vision. The cat had leapt across the room and planted itself on top of his shirts in the suitcase, undoubtedly shedding like, well, a cat. "Hey, get out!"

Her head rose sharply. "Really?"

"No, not you," he said, pulling the cat out and dumping it on the floor. Why was the stupid thing always getting in his shit? Half the time he left the house covered in cat hair.

"Bad kitty." She reached into his suitcase, extracted a pair of balled up socks, and tossed them across the floor to the cat, who scrambled after it, purring like an outboard motor.

Kevin let him bat it around for a while as he refolded the shirts, then bent down and swiped it from the cat's grasp. For a moment, he thought about tossing them at her head, causing her to laugh and wing it back at him, but her head was still down as she focused on her drawing. He threw it back into the open suitcase and let that image die.

She didn't look up again until he snapped the suitcase shut. "Are you done?"

"Yes."

"Tired?"

"A little. I'm not finished yet." He left the room to collect some papers, and she was asleep when he returned, her sketchpad balancing on her stomach, pencil still gripped loosely in hand. Gently, he picked them off of her and placed it on the nightstand before turning in.

The next morning, he dressed silently in the pre-dawn hours and watched her still face as she slept, pale in the silvery moonlight. He couldn't help tracing his fingers along her soft, light hair, toying with the idea of waking her, so she could look up at him with those blue eyes and give him a smile he could remember for the next lonely week. He traced a finger across her jaw line, noticing that his hand was almost as big as her entire face, and realized that even if he did wake her, there was nothing he could think of saying besides "goodbye". Leaning forward, he brushed his lips lightly across her forehead before leaving.

The miles to airport were filled with Priyam yammering about his wife's cousin, who was pushing to visit and perhaps stay, and whom he obviously held in the same regard as his son-in-law. Kevin stared out the window the entire time, watching the sun lighten the sky behind the gray clouds and intermittently making noncommittal noises, which Priyam took to be absolute agreement.

He didn't feel better until he opened his suitcase at the hotel.

The piece of paper was laying on top of his clothes: a simple drawing of the cat curled up in his luggage, with a thought bubble hovering over his head containing a pair of socks. A chip of the iceberg in his stomach fell away as he reached for his phone. It rang a few times and then went to voicemail. He didn't know what to say, but what came out was: "I found your picture." A pause. "I miss you."

* * *

"Hey, would you stop that?" Jesse pulled the dishrag out of Mina's hand and tossed it on the sink. "We hired someone to clean up after us."

She scowled at him. Kevin was clever, she would give him that; giving the money directly to Jesse meant that she was frozen out of the decision-making and the inevitable veto power. Jesse essentially had five grand to throw himself a blowout, complete with DJ, bartender, catering, and a cleaning service to tidy up the place the next morning. She did set some ground rules: no smoking indoors, no animals, no drugs, and the bedroom doors would stay locked. She had even locked up her work materials, remembering a time when she would steal a few tubes of titanium white or a stray brush from some unsuspecting artist's drawers.

Jesse had gushingly agreed to all of the terms, and then gleefully gone over budget buying top shelf liquor. Mina had been trying to soak up half of a Manhattan that someone had spilled on the carpet.

He tugged on her arm. "Darien just brought up more models. Male ones, this time!"

She glanced offhandedly at a group of skinny guys in their late teens, all sporting True Religion jeans, candy-colored Italian trainers, and goatees artfully groomed to look disheveled. It was the third group of models Darien had gone downstairs to let in, and she suspected not the last. They had only invited a handful of people, knowing that word of mouth would spread the invite to all the crashers. After all, not long ago, they had been those crashers.

However, Mina was surprised at the crowd that showed up. The usual art bunch that she and Jesse knew was supplemented with much older, established artists in the community, some with enough name recognition and capital that she didn't think they needed to crash parties anymore. Darien had arrived with his wife and a pair of young Hollywoods who were in town opening their new movie. He had gotten on the phone, and suddenly there were more famous faces among the throng of struggling theater actors, writers, hipsters, and anyone else who was up for crashing a party at an artist's penthouse. Mina had turned down the dimmer switch, and in the forgiving light, everyone was beautiful: they drank more, laughed more, socialized more. She wished she could grab her sketchbook.

Jesse took another long swallow of his drink. "There's this absolutely adorable guy that I am going to conquer tonight. He says he's in a band, but that might be all bullshit. I used to say that I was in a band."

He grabbed Mina into a brief hug and whispered in her ear. "I so love your boyfriend for doing this for me. I know you had issues with it, but that's only because you are insane." He pulled back, his eyes glittering with uncharacteristic emotion. "No one's done something this nice for me, ever."

"Jesse," Mina sighed, grabbing his arms.

"No, shut up bitch, let me finish!" He took a deep breath. "My parents haven't talked to me in years, and I don't think they ever will for the rest of their lives, or mine. Half of my friends are so busy or messed up that they didn't even call me and wish me a happy birthday, and I just got dumped by an idiot who would rather live with a disgusting old man with sagging balls because he'll pay his bills while the idiot works on his shitty screenplay." He swallowed. "I'm not kidding. This may be the happiest night of my life. Thank you."

She grabbed him and hugged him, tightly. "No, thank you. You've always been there for me, no matter how crazy I get."

They let go, Jesse wiping his wet eyes with a thick cocktail napkin. "You know what else was in the card that Kevin gave me? Besides a huge check."

"What?"

He was smiling at her. "Well, you know, the usual card crap: 'Thanks for taking care of my girl. You're a good friend to her and to me. Blah blah blah. But that's not even the best part!

At the end he wrote: 'PS: Fuck the haters.'" He gave her a crazy grin, sounding as triumphant as if he were the author of that particular sentiment.

Mina felt her eyebrows touch her hairline. "Kevin wrote that?"

"He so did. I'm so in love with your boyfriend, Mina. For all the obvious reasons, and despite that irritating heterosexuality problem. He's just a plain fucking nice person."

She smiled and squeezed his elbow.

Raye found her through the crowd, shoving aside a couple of dark-haired girls with neat bobs and cat-eye glasses like they were paper dolls. "Mina, you would not believe what just happened! There's this old guy who's been staring at my ass for like, the last two hours, so finally I just go up to him and ask him what his problem was, and get this: he tells me that he wants me to pose for him!"

"So?"

"So? SO? He wanted me to pose nude! _Nude_! Said I could be 'his muse', whatever the hell that means. Can you believe it?"

Mina craned her neck to see the front living room, which was finally being used for once, where people were crammed on and around the sofas. "Um, Raye, that guy's legit. You just turned down the opportunity to be famous."

Raye stopped for minute, digesting. "Well, he shouldn't have been staring at my ass, then."

"He's a renowned artist! He was probably just appreciating the various aesthetic qualities of your form. Besides, everyone looks at your ass; you know this. Your ass is legendary. Zach's written entire essays about it."

"I can't wait to meet that guy," Raye said blandly, taking a sip of her martini, and nonetheless, looking very pleased about the effect her posterior was having on a range of perverts. "I _do_ have a nice ass."

"Yes, you do." Jason came up from behind his girlfriend and grabbed a handful of her behind. "Guess what! I think I just got hit on by a desperate model!"

"She must be hungry," Raye said, grabbing his face and squeezing it affectionately. "Do I have to go and choke her?"

"If you'd like, babe, but she's all bone. It would be like fighting a spinal column." He turned to his sister. "Hey, give me your keys. I need to get in your bedroom for a second."

She was immediately suspicious. "What for?"

"I left something in my coat."

She immediately sensed bullshit, but complied. "Fine. Come here." She found Jesse and retrieved the keys to the bedroom. "Don't forget to lock the door when you're done."

"Yeah, yeah." Mina barely caught the almost imperceptible nod he gave to Raye, who then followed him through the crowd, teetering on her new Manolos.

It dawned on her. "Hey, wait a second! Gross! Jason, you're disgusting! Use one of the guest bedrooms!"

"For what?" Darien sidled up to her, drink in hand; Serena flanked on his other side. She emitted a squeal like a faulty brake pad and grabbed Mina's hands and held her at arm's length.

"OH my God I love your dress! It's adorable!"

"Do you?" She ran her hands down the pale pink ruffles. In its previous incarnation, it had probably done time at a mid-eighties prom before landing at the Goodwill that she had found it at. Mina had hacked a good foot and a half of material to raise the hemline to her upper thighs, and then stripped off the poofy sleeves to make it strapless. A strip of fabric from her old peacock dress was serving as her headband. "Jason said I looked like a cupcake."

"No! Not a cupcake!" Serena's dress was pale beige and perfectly fitted, and the garnets strung around her neck and on her ears were the size of pennies. "And if you do, you're a gorgeous cupcake! I love cupcakes"

Obviously, she had a few drinks in her already.

Darien snorted. "Well, sweetie, she saves the slutty dresses for when your brother's actually in town." He craned his neck. "Mina, can you watch my wife for a moment? Make sure no sleazy little overgelled scenster checks her out. Normally I'd use Raye and that spectacular ass of hers as a decoy but she seems to have disappeared, unfortunately." He cupped Serena's face and brushed his lips against hers tenderly. "Baby, I have to go baby sit the celebutards for a few minutes. Will you be OK?"

She batted at him. "Of course I will! I love you!"

"Love you!" he called over his shoulder as he disappeared in the crowd.

Serena sighed happily and settled one hand on her hip, while holding her drink aloft with the other. "So, do you like them?"

"Uh," Mina stuttered, wondering why Serena was asking about the bobbed girls in front of them. "I don't really know who they are," she admitted.

Serena saw whom she was talking about, and scoffed. "No, not them! I meant _these_." She reached forward and grasped Mina's pearls in her hands.

Her hand automatically joined Serena's, just as they had every time someone touched the strand around her neck. Her response was just as automatic. "Of course."

"Oh good," Serena said, her hand drifting back to her side. "I had to really rack my brain to think of what to get for you."

"You picked these out?"

She looked at her. "Yes. Would you really trust my brother to pick out something stylish? You've seen his taste; it's horrible. Thank God you've got the artistic eye." She noticed Mina staring at her, and started. "I mean, is that OK?"

Mina shook her head. "Yeah, it's OK."

Serena squared her body. "You don't sound very convincing. What don't you like about it? The color? I thought it was a little wacky, but I felt like gold really compliments you for some reason…"

"No, it's not that," Mina said, her hand twining nervously in the pearls, a habit that she had picked up that made her feel like an octogenarian from the Deep South. She searched for the words that formed perfectly in her head but died on her tongue. "They're so expensive."

"Yeah?" Serena's eyes were blue planets. "So?"

"So…" She turned her eyes on Serena and put her in a different light, looking at her not as her near sister-in-law, or as a friend, but how a stranger might see her. Shoulder-length hair, smooth as the surface of a china plate, cut in a precise line, no split ends or flyaways or telltale roots. Flawless skin that seemed to glow from inside; perfect makeup, never smudged. Long black lashes and perfectly plunked eyebrows. Blindingly white teeth and lips smoothed with Chanel crème lipstick. A dress tailored to fit her like a glove. The huge garnets glittered around her neck and on her ears.

If America had royalty, Serena would be it.

And that meant Kevin would be, too.

Mina was very aware that she was wearing a secondhand prom dress accessorized with fifty thousand dollars around her neck: a borrowed crown for a courtesan.

Ideas kept coming to her and floating away like soap bubbles. "I'm weird about things like that."

Serena smiled softly, and the illusion was dropped with that simple gesture. Her friend was back. "Don't be. Kevin can afford it."

"That's not what I'm worried about," she muttered. How could she explain to Serena, whose jewelry sparkled like sunlight on the surface of a river, who was born to luxury, who had never experienced anything but gratification, how it felt to wear such extravagance?

"Don't," Serena repeated, taking a sip of her drink. "Because if you do, he won't stop until he thinks you're happy."

She had a sudden image of drowning in a pile of gold coins and jewelry like pirate treasure in a movie.

* * *

As the night crawled towards morning, the crowd doubled in size as the party accumulated stragglers from other gatherings, a surprising mix of bohemians and bourgeois. Mina personally knew about twenty people that were currently in her home; Jesse knew a few more than that, and the rest were all friends of a friend of a friend, or someone lucky enough to piggyback on someone who knew someone. The catering staff had already made another run for alcohol, and Darien was kicking out anyone claiming to be a blogger and taking pictures. It was very loud.

Jesse was over the moon, again. "Oh my God, we've totally fucking made it," he shouted to Mina over the music. "I don't know any of these people, and apparently, there are more waiting outside on the sidewalk to see if they can get in! And Darien won't let them because a few of them were on reality shows and we don't mess with those psychos."

Mina laughed. "Any of them cute?"

"I don't mess with those psychos, either. Besides, you're spoken for. Shut up."

She spotted Jason weaving his way to the balcony with a cigarette clamped in his teeth. He only smoked on certain occasions: when he was extremely drunk, which was not the case right now, and the other…

"Hey!" She grabbed him by the elbow.

His eyes were shining. "What's up?"

It was confirmed. "Did you fuck in my bed?"

"What?" He tried, very unconvincingly, to look nonchalant. "No!" He slid through the doorway. "I had sex in your bed."

She was going to kill Raye. "Gross! Jason!"

"What?"

She followed him outside. "For one, what's the difference?"

He borrowed a light, then took a drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Sex has more kissing."

She hit him on the arm. Now she definitely had to take the bedding to the cleaners. "Did you at least remember to lock the door?"

"Uh…no." Off of her look, he threw his arms out and exaggeratedly shrugged. "Come on! I just got laid, I can't think straight! Give me a break."

"I'll break you," she muttered, shoving him aside and heading towards her bedroom. On her way, she passed Raye, who was perched on the back of a couch, her hair bunched up messily in a sloppy chignon, and indulgently grinning as she listened to the much older man, who couldn't take his eyes off of her legs.

"—such a glow! I would be honored if you let me capture you like this, my dear…"

Mina rolled her eyes as she brushed by the man and his newest potential muse. The hallway was sparsely populated, but to her chagrin the bedroom door was open a crack. If the stupid cat got out, there was no telling where he would pee.

She slipped inside the dark room and noticed that there were voices and light coming from the master bath. _Oh great._ "Hello?"

The door was open, so she let herself in, hoping that no one was doing coke. "Hello?"

Her bathtub was full of models.

It was a big bathtub: a white, free standing, oversized bowl with high sides that unfortunately had no ledge, making it stylish but not very practical. Three lithe women were laying across each other in it, dangling their thin legs over the sides while they sipped champagne and forcefully laughed and posed for a photographer who was on his knees in front of them, snapping away.

There were other models in the room: two sitting on a cushioned bench against one wall, another poking her head into the glass shower stall, examining the cascade head, and two more primping in front of the full-length mirror and sucking on skinny cigarettes.

A rolled up dollar bill lay on a counter. Mina sighed.

"Hey everyone, this room is off-limits. And you can't smoke indoors."

One of the bathtub dwellers produced a cigarette out of her tiny handbag and lit it. "What are you, the police?" Her words were tinged with an Eastern European accent, and the either the alcohol or the cocaine, or maybe both, was making her bold.

Mina felt like snapping one of her bony wrists like a dry chicken wing. "No, I live here." She crossed the space and held out her hand. "Give it."

Suddenly, every eye was on her as she glared down at the chagrined young woman in her bathtub. The model had the good grace to look embarrassed as she handed over the cigarette. "I'm sorry, I did not know."

The photographer snapped a few quick pictures; Mina very much wanted to wheel around and kick him square in the face. The model cleared her throat. "This apartment is very beautiful. You are also very beautiful. Do you model?" It was all damage control; she was trying to make nice so that she didn't get kicked out. Mina almost felt sorry for the twig.

A familiar voice rang out behind her as the camera flashed away. "No, she got this apartment in a different way, love." Mina froze as her stomach lurched sideways, and icy tendrils of panic started crawling down her spine. The voice continued. "She lets a rich guy fuck her, and in exchange he buys her a love nest. Maybe if you're lucky, one day it will happen to you."

One of the models in the bathtub frowned. "Ace, you're so mean."

The photographer lowered his camera, revealing cold, clear blue eyes in a chiseled face, framed with softly waving blond hair that peeked out from under a newsboy cap. "It's not mean, it's honest. And judging by the size of this place, she must be a damn good lay. Actually, I already know that." He looked up at her and winked. "Hello, Mina. Long time."

She wanted Kevin. She wanted him to be there _right now. _She wanted him to look her in the eye and refute everything Casey had just said, because those thoughts had bounced in her mind before, but they took on a different life when voiced out loud by that particular person. She needed to hear that it wasn't true, and she needed him to be there to say it. She needed him so desperately at that moment that she frantically wished that he could somehow hear her cry for help halfway around the world, even though nothing was screaming but her mind.

The models could sense the atmosphere changing, even through their coke-addled minds. They crawled out of the bathtub and exited in a herd of Tahari mini-dresses and stiletto heels. Mina heard the door shut behind them, leaving her alone in the bathroom with Casey.

She took a deep breath. "How did you even get in here?"

He shrugged and started breaking down his camera. "Same way everyone else did, love. Friend of a friend who knows somebody. Although it's funny, because I didn't expect that that somebody would be you."

"Well, you're really damn lucky that my brother didn't see you or I'd be sweeping up pieces of your teeth. You can leave now."

He smirked as he eased the camera into its compartment in the bag. "I'll admit this is one fucking nice flat you've got. You must keep that man pretty happy. I read the article you know, about you and him, and well," he let out a short laugh. "Me."

"Get the fuck out."

Casey simply smiled and plucked the lit cigarette from her fingers. He took a long drag before speaking. "Mina, I haven't seen you in like, forever, isn't that mad? And then one night, I go to a party at what I thought was some actor's penthouse, but then find out that it's actually my ex-fiancée's place and she's become a kept woman."

"Casey, shut the fuck up and get the hell out of my house!"

"Your house?" He was taking his time packing up. "Wow. You really believe that."

She crossed her arms, partly for intimidation, and partly to keep from shaking. "What do you mean?" Her voice quavered, and she wished that she didn't already know that she was walking into a trap.

He snapped his case shut and stood, slinging his bag over his arm and leaned his body towards her, close enough so that they could almost touch. Mina tried to keep her face neutral so that he wouldn't notice the distress he was causing her, but she had never been able to do that around him; it was stupid to think that she could now.

When he spoke, she could almost remember what it sounded like to hear him speak to her with love, but his words snapped the thread of the tenuous memory. "He bought your painting, Mina; he bought this place. He bought _you_."

She focused on the star tattoo on his forearm and tried not to break.

"You amuse him now because you're a pretty bird who paints pretty pictures. Not that it matters much, then, because regardless if you do well or not, you've still got your safety net. I always thought it would be that big painting of yours, but it turns out it's just a dick with a wallet."

He took another drag and continued. "You know, Mina, one day, maybe tomorrow, or next month, or next year, doesn't matter: sooner or later he's going to get bored, and find a new girl who does something else to entertain him. You're like a new car, or new toy, or new whatever. He'll chuck you once your shine wears off." He reached out with one finger and gently touched the pearls hanging around her neck. "You think he loves you? He doesn't love you: he owns you."

She slapped his hand away. "You have five minutes to get out of here."

He backed off and slowly headed towards the door. "Just saying, love. Do yourself a favor and don't be so naïve."

"Four."

He stopped and turned to her, flashing one last smile. In another lifetime, that smile had made her melt; now it made her sick. "Take care of yourself, Mina. I almost hope that I'm wrong. But I'm not."

She shut the bathroom door behind her, and curled up on the floor. Jason found her there hours later, when the sun was starting to rise.

* * *

The next day, she sat in a corner and felt strange watching the cleaning service straighten the apartment without expecting her to jump in and help. Luckily, nothing had been destroyed, but the _David_ refrigerator magnet and three of the fake lemons in the bowl had gone missing. Jesse had bitched a fit over that one.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and stared out at the city, the uneasy feeling roiling in the pit of her stomach. A sketch pad sat in front of her, with only a few pencil lines drawn on the paper; she hadn't touched it for a half hour, preferring to sit and stare out the window, waiting to feel something again.

"Oh!" One of the cleaners exclaimed as a stack of envelopes fell out of a cabinet. Mina vaguely remembered jamming them in there the previous night. "I'm sorry, ma'am!"

She jumped up and helped the woman scoop them up. "Oh, God, don't worry about it, I got it."

Most of them bore the same return address and logo in the corner, and were stuffed fat with documents. Mina sighed; she hadn't opened a bank statement in months, although she really should, since her tried and true method of praying the ATM machine wouldn't reject her card wasn't really conducive to her long-term financial health.

It dawned on her that her tried and true method hadn't failed in a while. Not since…

A quick search of the most recent postmark, and then she slid her thumbnail in the corner and tore the envelope open.

* * *

Kevin came home with a pebble in his pocket.

He had found it on the ground in Beijing when bending over to tie his shoe, and noticed it sitting in between a crack in the sidewalk. It was plain gray and smooth, and would have been unremarkable if it didn't have a small protrusion on one end like a proboscis. He had picked it up and turned it around in his fingers, ignoring the slightly hostile stares that he was getting for blocking the sidewalk. Later that night, while out for drinks, he had pulled it out and showed it to a colleague. "What do you think of this?"

"It's a fucking rock, Chaston."

"Yeah, but look at it."

"Look at what? It's a fucking weird shape, but it's still a fucking rock. What's the deal? Did you pull it out of the Tiananmen Square or something?"

"No."

"Throw it the fuck away. It's just a rock."

Mina wouldn't think it was just a rock. Perhaps she would remark about its unusual shape, or stick it in the center of the table and sketch it out, or paint eyes on it and put it on the dashboard of his car, where it would live for a few days before being relegated to the cup holder or glove compartment. He stuck it back in his pocket.

It was late at night when he returned. He expected her to be asleep, or in her studio, sketching or painting, playing music while the cat ran around underfoot. Her blond hair would be pulled back with a pencil stuck through to keep it in place, and if he were lucky, half of her clothes would be tossed on the floor.

As expected, she was in the studio, sitting at the table in the middle and drawing heavy black lines in charcoal on a piece of cardstock. Her hair was down, her clothes were on, and it was dead silent. She looked up when she heard him come in.

"What are these?" she said before he could speak, nodding at the stack of papers in the middle of the table.

He picked one up with dead hands, wondering how the stone in his pocket had found its way into his throat.


	6. Chapter 6 Beneath the Sheets of Paper

CHAPTER SIX:BENEATH THE SHEETS OF PAPER LIES MY TRUTH

There were several guidelines to follow when drinking alone, especially if drinking alone every night. It was not a quest to feel happy, or sloppy, or even forget why one was drinking alone in the first place. It was a prelude to nothing: a gift to oneself for trudging through another day of crushing regret and hopeless self-loathing.

First, start early. Preferably about six or seven in the evening, which would allow enough time to get blissfully shitfaced and have at least eight or so hours to sober up before going to work the next day. Starting while still in the office was highly recommended, since everyone there was self-medicating in some form, anyway.

Second, do not attempt to eat anything; it would disrupt the flow of alcohol to the bloodstream. This especially applied to anything that would be encased in glass or required the use of fire to make it palatable. If food was required, eating out of the package was recommended, even encouraged, and whatever fell to the floor, the cat would take care of it.

Oh wait. There was no cat right now. May not be ever again.

Third—and this needed some training before doing it right--was to pull the battery out of your phone and hide it. The same should be done to the house phone. The last step, and the hardest, was to lock your computer with a password so complicated that you couldn't easily recall it (but taping it somewhere that you could find later, when you were sober enough).

The car keys must also be hidden. This step was crucial, since after one found the battery to the phone (one always found the damn battery) and made a dozen calls to the same number, all of which ended in voicemail, one would usually stumble around trying to find the spare car keys to go to her, a logical next step to a broken mind. The key to hiding the keys was to put them in a separate place than the phone batteries, some place it hurt too much to go into, like her studio.

Buying more than five bottles of Johnnie Walker Blue at a time usually elicited stares from the clerk; having them delivered was preferable and less judgmental. The empty bottles also looked pretty jaunty lined up on the counter.

Drinking directly out of the bottle was bad form.

And when one finally got to the end of the line, the last stop after drinking Steel Reserve out of a paper bag in the loading dock with Joe the maintenance guy, one would end up waking on the couch of an unfamiliar apartment, with a crocheted blanket pulled up to one's chest, and the smell of cooking bread in the air as one stared up at a painting of a blue-skinned Hindu deity.

Kevin stared at the painting for a few moments through contacts so dry they felt like inch-thick glass plates stuck against his eyeballs. He remembered that Mina had been the one who painted it, and desperately wished he was still unconscious.

Thank blue-skinned, multi-limbed Hindu deity, it was Saturday.

"Oh, good morning, sir." Priyam's kindly face popped into view, thankfully blocking the painting of Shiva or Kali or whoever it was. "How do you feel?"

He pulled himself slowly into a sitting position and almost keeled over from the red tide of pain that hammered on the inside of his skull. "Very, very embarrassed."

Priyam waved him off. "No matter, sir. I am glad that you are all right."

He choked down the stale taste in his mouth and vowed to never again drink forty ounces of anything purchased at a bodega for fewer than five bucks. "What happened?"

"Oh, well, you called me very late at night, and from a not very good area, so I drove around until I found you, and by then you had already lost your keys. You offered me a lot of money if I would take you to Miss Aino's parents' house, but I thought it better if I brought you back here. Then you promised me a raise and very forwardly propositioned my wife."

Kevin felt his eyes shoot open with shock. It had been a long, long time since he had gotten loaded enough to act like a pre-marriage Darien, and Mrs. Priyam was kind of…old, and round, and not exactly his type. He wondered how much money he could offer the driver to make him forget that indiscretion.

The older man was smiling at him with a twinkle in his eye. He groaned. Smart ass. "I'll still give you the raise."

"Thank you, sir. And your phone kept ringing, I think someone is trying to find you."

His head throbbed as he scrambled for his phone, hoping against desperate hope that Mina had finally given in and returned one of his calls, but the call log displayed nothing but Serena once and Zach fourteen times, along with a slew of texts. He read the last one.

_If u don't call back in 1 hour I file missing prsns rep. _

He checked the time; it was sent a few hours ago.

_Uh-oh. _

Priyam gave him a ride home after he had taken a piss that left a strange ache in his lower back; he wondered if his weeklong bender was starting to affect his kidneys.

Who the fuck needed kidneys anyway?

Perhaps he was still a little drunk.

Only when he found himself in front of his front door did he realize that sometime last night he had lost his keys, and there was a quick, furious temper tantrum that nearly ended in a broken toe before he made a call.

Thankfully, his knight in something armor didn't bring his sister with him.

Darien stepped out of the elevator and gave him a long, pitying look before pulling the key ring out of his jacket pocket. "No offense, bro, but you look like you slept on a park bench."

Kevin ignored him and reminded himself to find out how to install an electronic lock, or one of those funky eyeball-scanning ones so that he didn't end up in this position ever again. It was bad enough that he was scraping the bottom of the dignity barrel without locking himself out of their house like a seventeen year old out past curfew.

_Their house._ Well, shit, that little slip was going to take another half bottle to forget. Along with every other evidence of her in the place.

He forgot that Darien was tailing him as he made his way back to the bedroom, stripping off his shirt and pants before reaching the bathroom. He couldy already feel the scratch of stubble across his face, and his eyes were burning like someone had taken a blowtorch to them. He tugged the tacky contacts out of his eyes and flicked them at the floor, missing the trashcan by a mile but not really caring. He hadn't taken out the bathroom trash since then, because before the—before, she had stripped her hairbrush clean and tossed it in the can, and the snarl of blonde hairs was a lasting reminder of contented normalcy. If Darien knew he was sniveling over a clump of dead hair, he would kick him straight in the balls. Hell, he'd kick himself there, since he had been doing it figuratively all week.

There was no way he was taking out the trash. Not yet.

"So," Darien began, trying his best attempt at casual as he positioned himself on one of the counters. Kevin turned on the faucet to his sink and splashed his face a few times. "Have you talked to her yet?"

Kevin froze over the basin, suddenly very intent on watching the shooting stream of water jet down into the drain. "No."

Darien gave a single nod. "Did you try and call her?"

He snapped the faucet off and reached for a towel. "No, I hadn't thought of that. What a great idea. It never occurred to me to find a telephone, punch a bunch of numbers in it, and use it as a communication tool to facilitate discussion. Thank you, Darien, you're my hero. You've just solved all of my problems, I'd be so _fucked_ without you!"

He was expecting Darien's patented death stare to come lasering at him, the one he reserved for paparazzi, accountants and studio agents, but the look the dark-haired man was an amazing crisscross of pity and curiosity.

"You're doing sarcasm wrong. Are you high?"

"Yes." Kevin didn't bother lying. He had passed the time waiting for Darien to arrive with his keys by snorting lines off the back of his hand, something he hadn't done in years. The inevitable crash later was going to be a killer, but luckily he had enough Ambien to see him through that. "But fuck you."

Darien frowned. "Hey, guess what starts right now?"

"What?"

"Detox!"

"Fuck you!"

"You said that already. Be like Apple and think different." He left the bathroom, and Kevin could hear him clanking around the apartment shortly after. He darted out to save his stash.

Darien was standing in front of the line of empties on the counter. "Aw, how cute. You goanna go bowling with these or something?" He swept them all into a garbage bag, including one that still had a quarter left.

"Hey, that one's still got some in it." Now Darien was rummaging through the fridge and scooping out armfuls of beer bottles.

"Are you freaking serious? Leave it. Beer's not even alcohol."

"Oh really? Pound a forty and let's see you walk a straight line and say the alphabet backwards."

This was a battle he was meant to lose. "Fine. Just leave the Ambien, I can't sleep without it."

But Darien pocketed the little orange bottle anyway. "Boo hoo, princess. Drink some tea."

"You know, you're being a real fucking asshole right now."

"Why, because I won't bring the cake to your pity party?" Darien stopped his clean-out and turned to face Kevin. "Listen, I know you're new to this whole 'relationship' think, so let me help you realize what just happened. You had a fight. Couples _fight, _even ridiculously solid couples like me and Serena, and it makes the sex even better when you make up. Let her cool off for a few more days, then go down there, talk it out, and drag her ass back home. It's Mina, man. I know her; she can't stay mad at anyone for long. Except for…well, that's something different."

"This is different," Kevin said gravely, sliding onto a stool and resting his elbows against the island, trying to rub the nerves out of his face. It wasn't working.

The doom and gloom was getting to Darien, because he did a short dance of exasperation before composing himself. "OK, who stole my brother-in-law and replaced him with a fourteen year old girl?"

"Shut up."

"Maybe you should put it on Facebook. Status: Forlorn."

"Darien, really, if you're here just to fuck with me, I'm not in the mood, so please go find something else to do and leave me the fuck alone."

Darien stopped his clean out and looked down at his shoes while tapping out a nervous rhythm on the counter. When he straightened, he looked more serious than Kevin had ever seen him in his life, aside from the time when Darien told him that he was marrying his sister, and no, he was not joking. "I'm not here to fuck with you." He cleared his throat. Clearly having bouts of human emotion was difficult for robo-Chiba. "I want to help."

"You can't."

Darien wasn't accepting that answer. "Why not?"

"_I knew it," Mina whispered, averting her eyes and biting her lip like the revelation was eating her inside. "Casey said that you—"_

"_Wait, what?" That word should have been shouted, but it came out as a hushed threat instead. "When did you see him?" _

_He could see her catch her breath, probably remembering that she wasn't ever supposed to mention that. A secret she'd buried from him, forever. He could feel the fury building inside of him like a crazed animal. _

_She made the mistake of stuttering, which only increased the anger that he felt rising and growing out of control. "He-he came to Jesse's party—"_

_His eyes went dark as storm clouds, his voice as hard as iron. "He was here? In _our_ house?" _

Kevin shook his head, trying to get the memory out of his head. He had been burying it behind work, artificial sleep, and a multitude of legal and non-legal chemicals all week long. No sense in pouring sulfuric acids in the wounds. "I fucked it up too much."

Darien didn't seem to be buying it. "We all fuck up. Did you try and talk to her about it?"

He threw a leveling look at Darien. What the hell did he think that he had been doing all week? Learning to juggle? "All the talk in the world isn't going to fix it."

_She threw the handful of bank statements on the floor. "He told me that you would do this."_

_He followed her out into the hallway. "Was this the first time you've spoken to him?"_

"_Why? What does it matter? This isn't about me and Casey. This is about me and you." _

"_Really." He was exhausted and bone-tired from moving through too many time zones in too short of a time, and every unwelcome mention of her ex-fiancé grated on his raw nerves. He wanted this to end, but he couldn't stop, and neither could she. "Because it sounds like you two had a great conversation about us."_

"_Get off of Casey!" Her voice was rising in pitch. "This isn't about him at all! It's totally obvious that you think I'm some--stupid little plaything that you can jerk around until you get bored!"_

"_That's not true at all."_

"_Oh, it's not?" She nearly sneered. "He was right, you know. You bought my painting and it's still sitting in the gallery. You don't care about me, or my work, or anything I do. You just want to own it. You just want to own_ me_."_

Darien was saying something, and the memory fighting to the surface of his mind made him completely miss it. "What?"

"I said, you guys are partners, you both want to make this work. Just communicate."

"We're past that point."

Darien exhaled heavily, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and cracking all his knuckles in quick succession. "OK, what the fuck happened that you can't fix it by acting like rational adults and talking it out?"

Kevin grunted. "I said something."

"Please. If Serena stormed out every time I said something boneheaded, we'd have to buy two houses."

"It was really bad."

"It couldn't be that bad," Darien said. "What was it?"

"_I don't see why this is an issue. You needed it." _

_They were in the hallway now, and the walls were inching closer with every word. Her eyes flashed gaslight blue as she backed away, seeming to retreat into the protective shadows as her arms crossed her body protectively. "I can get money on my own. Do you think I'm totally useless?"_

"_What? No! But I mean--you're not exactly in the most stable profession."_

_She flinched, but stopped backing away, obviously ready to stay in the ring for this round. "So what are you saying? That I'm a total fucking loser who can't hold a job?"_

"_No, I'm not—"_

"_Because you know, I was surviving before I met yo,; I wasn't looking for a sugar daddy to come and rescue me!" _

"_Mina, would you—"_

_Her voice was rising, even though they were only a few feet apart. "You think I can't support myself, don't you?"_

"_Well—" he stopped. _

_Her breath was coming in hard gasps. "Well, what?"_

_Stupid move. "Never mind, it's nothing." _

"_No, say it," she snarled, hands balled into fists. "Whatever it is, say it."_

_He danced around the request, deflecting her verbal jabs as she tried to draw him out of his corner. "I don't want you taking your clothes off for strangers anymore. Is that too much to ask?"_

"_Is that what this is about?" _

"_I don't know," he said. "I don't know what this is about. I don't usually date strippers." _

_There was a moment of silence as Kevin frantically tried to determine if he had really said that out loud. Because he would never say that. It wasn't true. He didn't know where that thought—those words came from. There seemed to be some other person wearing him like a coat, and this person was an endless well of anger that would say something like that just to keep a lick of superior pride._

_She had to realize that it wasn't him who threw the knockout punch. He didn't know who it was that had said those words, but it wasn't him. She must know that._

_She didn't._

_Her face slackened first, then her hands unclenched and fell like falling branches to hang limply at her sides. Her shoulders seemed to coil inward as the first tears started falling from her eyes, just two at first, escaping out of the corners of her eyes and rolling down her face. Her lips stayed parted as her breath quickened, and then more tears came, faster, and she was shaking as small noises escaped between choking gasps._

_Mina started to cry, and her eyes, wild with pain and hurt, never left his. _

_He didn't know what to say to stop it from coming, or to put it back in, or to make her understand that the words that he said had nothing to do with how he felt about her. They had been formed independently from his brain and emotions, and he was just the vessel that carried them from their unintended beginnings to their poisonous end. He knew there must be some way he could make her realize this, but for the life of him, he didn't know what it was. An apology was useless; it would be like trying to put out a bonfire with a gasoline fire hose. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her head, to reassure her that they were meaningless words that had came from nothing, but none of those things would reverse time so he could kill himself before he spoke those words. Nothing could do that._

_So he stood there, his eyes wide, as she broke in front of him. _

_He must have made some small movement towards her, because she turned and darted away from him, and slammed the bedroom door behind her. He could hear her sobbing through it, and he stood and stared at the door blankly, hating himself more with every second that passed. _

Darien was barely breathing as he stood motionless; Kevin counted to sixty before the other man formulated a reply. "What the fuck, Kev."

He simply nodded.

Darien was looking at a point across the room, and Kevin could tell that he was trying to keep his infamous temper under control. "Really nice, there, chief. You know she didn't do that because she wanted to, so how dare you judge—"

Something snapped, and he sent his chair flying as he jumped up and shouted across the island. "Don't you think I fucking know that, Darien? I fucked up, OK, I know I did, and if she never came back, I couldn't very well blame her. Now quit telling me shit I already know and get the fuck out of my house already. I don't want to fucking look at you anymore."

Darien remained still for a moment, and then picked up the plastic bag of bottles and turned to leave. "Well, man, if you're really trying to alienate everyone that gives the slightest fuck about you, congratulations, it's working."

He listened to the footsteps retreating and the door slamming. Another reminder of another incident.

_She came out with two bags: one unmistakably stuffed full of clothing, and her tote bag that she used to haul around pencils, pads and a camera for when she was out in the field. She didn't meet his eye, but adjusted her hat nervously and walked and talked too quickly as she headed towards the front door. "I'm-I'm going to um, stay at Jesse's tonight."_

"_Wait, Mina—"_

"_No!" She held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Just…just don't talk to me right now, all right? Nothing," she bit her lip and he could see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes again. "Nothing you say right now is going to make a difference, so just…don't." _

_Her hand was on the doorknob before he spoke. "Wait."_

_He could tell she was wavering between going and staying to hear him out, and thankfully, she picked the latter. "What?" she whispered, her voice wavering. _

_He picked up a sketchpad that had been laying on the dining room table and brought it to her, holding it out at arm's length. Any closer, and he would try to touch her, and then he probably couldn't let go. "You don't want to forget this one. It has your work for Serena's book in it." _

_She held her eyes on him for a moment before turning and walking out of the door. _

_He called her the next morning and she didn't answer, and the cat was gone when he came home from work. _

_It had been five days, and he hadn't seen her since. _

The door opened as Darien shouted inside. "I'll be back tomorrow to make sure you're not dead. And if you are, I'll make it look like a murder so your sister doesn't blame herself."

Kevin waited until the door shut before responding. "Thanks."

Without the Ambien, and with the copious amount of cocaine in his bloodstream, he didn't sleep that night. Or the next.

She didn't answer her phone that night. Or the next.

* * *

After a few days, it became apparent why Mina chose to retreat to her parents' house instead of staying within the city limits. She had appeared unannounced on their doorstep one evening, head down, and numbly reached out and hugged her father. It had drove them both into near panic.

"Mina, what is it? What happened?"

She squeezed him harder and started to cry again, for what felt like the millionth time that week. She could not cry in front of Jesse anymore, or Raye, or her brother. It was too trying to hear their reassuring words, and in Jason's case, constant relationship troubleshooting, so she went to the two people that she could break down in front of for as long as she needed to.

Her mother was on the phone with her brother within five minutes, and must have gotten the entire story off of him in the next five, because she pulled her father into the kitchen shortly afterwards. When they came out, they told her that she could stay as long as she wanted, and her mother rushed off to gather clean sheets.

The crinkles around her father's eyes were bunched into folds as he sat down on the couch next to her that first night. His movements were hesitant, as if Mina was some wild creature that he happened upon in the backyard that had followed him into the house. "It's just a bump in the road, honey. It'll work itself out." His eyes were weary, and she knew he was mentally reliving the aftermath of her broken engagement with Casey all over again.

She wondered what Jason had told their mother, because she hadn't told him the whole truth, either.

Now, days later, her phone was ringing as she sat at the kitchen table, staring dumbly at the blank sketchpad, the same position she had been in for hours. She knew who was calling. She wanted to answer, but she couldn't, not until she could hear his voice without breaking down. But with the same five words floating in her head, she didn't think that she ever would.

The page was still blank.

No image came to her. Before, her moments of deep emotion had been the catalysts of some of her best works. _Victory_ had come from a wave of confidence and celebration when she realized that she had the capacity to create, even if it wasn't understood very well, and that her creation came from nothing but an idea from within.

_Anger. Jealousy. _Both had been part of the grieving process for another person, the images floating to surface in her mind and then flying to her eyes and down to her fingers, manifesting across the blank canvas. The simple charcoal sketches of "_Love" _had emerged when she was trapped at his family home and he was the only thing keeping from folding under the pressure from his family. The scattering of watery shapes that she had painted while she thought of the furrows that appeared across his forehead when he sat at his desk in his office, and how she imagined her brush strokes were erasing the tension for him. So many of her recent works were created because of him.

And now, nothing came to her. The page stayed blank. The phone stopped ringing.

When her mother came home from her school a few hours later, Mina was still sitting at the table, head bowed over her blank sketchpad. "Sweetie, do you want something to eat?"

She didn't look up. "No thanks, Mom."

Her mother moved behind her chair and ran her fingers lovingly through Mina's blonde ponytail. "Do you want—"

"No thanks, Mom." She didn't raise her voice, or whine, just stated the words as plainly as if she was asking about the weather, but she did turn her head to look into her mother's eyes. "I'm OK."

Her mother wasn't going down so easily. "Do you want to talk about…anything?"

"No."

"Mina." The way she said her name nearly made her lose her composure.

"Mom, please."

"All right. Let me know when you do. Should we have lasagna or chicken tonight?"

Her mother turned on the tiny TV on the counter and flipped it to Oprah while she started dinner. Another episode with Suze Orman. Something small and sharp stabbed inside of her as she was reminded of how Kevin would go haywire whenever a talking head financial planner came on TV. He had even changed the channel in the ER waiting area to an hour-long Slapchop infomercial when he took her there after she had cut her hand open. Once her hand had healed up, she had gone out and bought him the Slapchop, and they had laughed together as they experimented with all of the different things that it failed to successfully chop, no matter how much slap was applied.

_Stop it._ She had to stop remembering. If she remembered those times, the small and loving and perfect times, she would remember what he said to her, too. And if she remembered those, they might break permanently, and then all she would have left would be the memory of how good it had been.

The absurd thought that they could stay in this holding pattern for decades, growing old in separate zip codes and communicating through unanswered phone calls, was admittedly somewhat appealing. Maybe she could check back in twenty years and see if he still thought of her as just a stripper.

The pencil was tossed aside. "I'm going to take Bagels for a walk before dinner."

She left her phone at home as she took the dog out, but still checked it when she got back. Jesse had called and left a voice message asking how many times a day he was supposed to feed her cat, and Raye had left two text messages: _U OK? Need anything?_

Nothing from him. Mina wished that she could shake the feeling of being reassured by the missed calls log, but she couldn't. Not yet.

Her parents, Zod love them, tried to comfort her by overfeeding her, which didn't make sense since she was never the big eater to begin with. She picked at the edge of her salad and listened to her parents talk around her.

Her silence didn't faze her mother. "Jason's coming tomorrow," she mentioned with false casualness while buttering a slice of bread.

Mina resisted rolling her eyes. If the sole intent of his trip was to forcibly drag her back to the city, then she was one hundred percent guaranteed to knee him directly in the balls. And if he was there to wax on and problem solve about her relationship—or former relationship, or relationship-on-hold, whatever—then she was going to kick him in the balls. Actually, any action taken by him that had anything to do with her and Kevin would lead to him getting nailed in the balls, and she hoped that he knew her well enough that this would be the course of action when he arrived. He'd better be coming down to borrow the lawnmower or something.

She swallowed. "Oh yeah? What for?"

It was obvious that her mother was trying to avert her eyes as she shrugged. _Jason, you bastard._

Another attempt to draw fell flat, and for a reason that she couldn't fully explain or understand, she dragged out old photo albums of when she and Jason were young. Two little blond, blue-eyed cherubs, separated by only a few years, smiled back at her in most of the photographs. A few had some hilarious tragedy, like the one of her in terrified tears on the lap of a mall Santa. Jason had a disgusted look on his face, as if the greatest humiliation of his life was his little sister embarrassing him in front of a fake Santa Claus. They were wearing matching blue sweaters, Mina noticed, which was really the most shameful part of the whole thing.

A knock. "Come in."

The door opened a crack as her mother peered in. "We're going to bed, sweetie. Do you need anything?"

Once, she had opened the door to her apartment to show her parents, and for a few moments, felt like she was showing them just how grown up she was. Now, she had never felt like more of a child. "No, I'm good. I'm going to go to bed soon, too."

"Mina." For the second time that day, her mother said her name like a hug. "Are you going to be all right?"

Every urge she felt was to say no, and run into her mother's arms in a sobbing heap, but instead she nodded, and wished her a good night.

Her phone rang again as she lay awake, vibrating against the digital clock radio on her bedside table. The glowing red numbers read 11:30 PM.

It was his work number.

Her thumb rubbed against the side of the phone a few times before she put it back down and turned her face to the wall.

* * *

For a few people that he knew, the doorbell simply wouldn't suffice. One tinny ring lacked the heft that rapping nonstop on the door did. Raye was one of those people.

Thankfully, that morning he had put on pants. "You have a key, you know."

Jesse was hanging behind her as she strode in like she owned the place; Raye Hino commanded the attention of any place she entered, regardless of whether it was a heated press conference or a gas station bathroom. She barely looked at him as she brushed past, clearly on a mission.

He turned to Jesse, who seemed to shrink a bit as he shrugged. "She wanted to knock," he said apologetically.

Kevin sighed. "Of course she does." He followed her into their—his---whatever, bedroom, where she was busy pulling articles of clothing out of a drawer. "What are you looking for?" he blindly offered, the unspoken '_Can I help?'_ dying on his lips when he saw the expression on her face.

"I need to grab some art supplies and, uh, some sort of flea...pill? I think it's in the studio." Jesse disappeared like his heels were on fire and his ass was catching.

Raye turned to Kevin then, those remarkable violet eyes flashing like freshly ignited road flares, and he shrank back a bit despite himself. She clicked her tongue. "So, I hear that you've been a total asshole to everyone who tries to talk to you."

Ah. She must have heard it from Darien, or perhaps Serena. "That's not—"

"Why?" she suddenly hissed, much like the cat did sometimes. The emphasis must not have been strong enough, because she repeated herself. "WHY aren't you trying to fix it?"

This was getting ridiculous, Kevin reasoned. Didn't they realize that he _would _try to fix it, despite that it was like trying to put together an exploded space shuttle with a single tube of epoxy? He would try to fix it; he would _have_ fixed it already, if there were a way to do it. But maybe there wasn't, and he wasn't ready to fully absorb that possibility right now.

Raye wasn't finished with him. "I know you're not the best guy at emotional finesse—"

"Raye."

"SHUT UP and let me finish."

He did.

"First of all, against all of my better judgment, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you didn't mean what you said about her, because if that _is _really how you honestly feel, tell me now so I don't waste my time in killing you."

It sucked very badly that she could think that about him, but he guessed that he deserved it. "No! No, of course not. I just—" He sighed and turned away from her. "I don't know, I was tired and angry and just started saying stuff. She told me that Casey had been here and I lost it." _I lost her._

He didn't see the quick glance that Raye and the newly returned Jesse exchanged behind his back. Raye's voice was deadly calm when she finally spoke.

"Kevin, do you even know what happened with Casey?"

There was enough energy in his response to power a small city for decades, and blood alcohol level lent him some very amusing hand gestures as he tried to get the words out intact. "No, and she will not fucking tell me. Raye, I know you hate me and want to kill me right now, but please fucking tell me what the hell went down." Her eyes were wide, and it seemed a bit funny that he had struck Raye Hino dumb with his rambling insanity. "Just tell me, and I swear to god I will be forever in your goddamn pocket."

She blinked, seeming to come to a decision right then. "OK, then." In the doorway, Jesse nodded. "Relax. OK, first thing's first. Where do you keep your CDs?"

"What?"

"Your CDs, Kevin. You know, those things we used to have before mp3s? You must have it. Everyone has it, and all yuppies listen to the same Michael Buble crap."

He led them out of the bedroom and to a cabinet in the living room with the TV, too anxious to defend himself or his musical choices. Raye threw open the doors and ran her finger down the rows of jewel cases. "Oh my God."

"What?"

She threw him a look that he had seen before, usually directed at animal rights protesters who stripped naked and locked themselves in cages outside of the zoo. "You alphabetize them."

"So?"

"Nothing." She turned back to her task. "Oh, I was right. Michael Buble."

"More than one Michael Buble!" Jesse said, leaning over her shoulder. "Oh my gods, you even have the Christmas album!" He was halfway to laughing before he remembered himself. "But, it's like, good, I mean, he's all right. I wouldn't listen to him, because he sucks, but he can be good if you're into that kind of thing. Which I'm not, but you are, because you know, you're…you."

That was a very roundabout way of telling Kevin that his taste in music sucked.

Raye shook her head. "Where is Coldplay? I know you have Coldplay; all yuppies listen to Coldplay."

This time, he had a little fight left in him. "There's more in the drawer underneath. And quit calling me a yuppie."

"I'm sorry, but if the shoe fits? You have Coldplay _and_ Michael Buble; your shoe is very much fitting."

"Oh, but he has The Roots!"

"So what? A few good ones don't erase the…Josh Groban. Did you really pay money for this?"

He steamed, remembering that Mina used to giggle and refer to his taste in music as "Wonderbread". "Raye, do you have a point?"

She stood up and threw a CD case at him. "Do I ever. Remember this?"

He glanced down. "Yeah. It's Coldplay. What does this have to do with anything?"

Another you-are-an-idiot look came hurtling his way. "Like the cover art?"

The cover art was not instantly recognizable, but popular enough that a few dorm rooms had the poster plastered on the walls next to John Belushi chugging a bottle of Jack Daniels and a random M.C. Escher. It was a black and white sketch of a woman's head: her eyes were covered with a dark blindfold, and she had no mouth. It took a few minutes of staring at it to realize that the sketch was made up of tiny written words, expertly woven in patterns to recreate shading. Her disembodied mouth shouted the title of the album in a thought bubble above her head.

"Raye, I don't get it."

She rolled her eyes. "All this time with her and I thought you would have noticed—anyway, flip it over. Read the fine print."

He did, several times, before the name caught his eye. _Cover art by Ace Kytowe._

"Casey did this?" He flipped the case back over and studied it more closely. "Pretty good. He must have made a killing off of this."

"Yep, it made his career." Raye was standing with her arms crossed, while Jesse had angrily thrown himself into a chair. "I know you've never heard of him, but he's pretty famous in certain circles. All due to that picture."

"Good for him, I guess."

Jesse lost it. "Can we please stop dancing around it? Kevin, the reason why we hate Casey so much—"

Raye couldn't let someone else steal her thunder, not after that much buildup. "It's Mina's."

"What?"

She nodded. "It's _Mina's_. She drew it, can't you tell? Take a closer look."

He did, and now he could see it: the flowing lines, the tiny components merging together to create a bigger picture, the single shock in the middle of the face. It reminded him of another painting, and it was in that instant that he realized what he was seeing.

He looked up dumbly. "It's _Victory_'s head."

"Yes it is."

"What--?" The words just weren't coming to him. "Why does it credit Casey then?"

"God, you really are dense!" Raye shouted, making Jesse jump. "It credits Casey because he fucking _stole_ it, Kevin."

His face must have changed expressions, because Raye looked a little more sympathetic and less homicidal as she continued with her story.

"I watched her work on it for months. It was supposed to be a wedding gift for him, and it was in his possession for maybe three days before he sold it as his own work."

There was probably was a medical reason for the cold sensation flowing out of the middle of his chest, but he was too distracted to wonder why. "You're joking."

Raye's violet eyes had taken on a dark cast. "I am one hundred percent not shitting you. That _creature_," she nearly spat the word, "even took the extra step to get it copyrighted because she didn't sign it. He made a fucking fortune by stealing his fiancée's work, not to mention the huge career boost, and to this day I don't think he feels a lick of regret about it."

For the first time in his life, Kevin wondered if his substantial means would allow him to commit a murder and get away with it. Of course, he couldn't call up just anyone and order a hit, but he was sure that with a little digging and a lot of money exchanging hands, there was a way to move a certain organism off the mortal coil permanently. Hopefully not messily, although the most immediate gratifying solution was to just find Casey and beat him until all that was left was a damp red smear on the ground. Perhaps the inclusion of some sort of criminal organization, perhaps the Russian mob. They were ruthless and efficient, and he was pretty sure with enough funding they wouldn't leave any incriminating evidence behind. Like, for example, a body. At least not a whole one.

Raye was twisting the knife, the need for some sort of revenge still clearly written on her face. "Now can you understand where she's coming from? She trusted him, and loved him, and…she loves so intensely, Kevin, please tell me you understand that."

He did. "I have to do something."

"Yeah, you do." Raye twisted her mouth and wilted a little; the fight seemed to be going out of her. "Look, you said some really dumb things, like, _really_ dumb, but I know that you're not the kind of person Casey is, and that it was probably a mistake. A really, _really_ stupid fucking mistake, but still a mistake. And I know that you love her a lot—"

"I do."

"Don't interrupt. I know that you love her a lot and you want her back, so I'm going to help you."

"OK."

"Didn't I just tell you not to interrupt?" He fell silent. "Now, Jason went to their parents' house this weekend and I'm positive that it's to see how she's doing, and maybe talk her into coming home. So on our end, we've got to be solution-oriented instead of wallowing in misery." She threw a distasteful look towards the empty scotch bottle plunked in the middle of an end table, right next to a sticky spill. "My God, Kevin, sack the fuck up."

Kevin wondered if Raye had ever thought about entering the financial arena. She had enough spine and fire to make grown men cower.

* * *

When Jason arrived home, he didn't say anything to Mina about her mess, except to ask if she was all right before popping a beer and settling down to watch the game with their father. "Want one?"

Drinking herself to death had a certain appeal, but she didn't feel like she was done with suffering. "No thanks."

"Want to go out later?" he tried again. Their father was watching the exchange out of the corner of his eye.

"No."

He shrugged and got up from the couch. "OK. I've got to talk to Mom about something."

Once he was gone, Mina's father looked over at her and silently patted the couch cushion next to him. Wordlessly, she slid over and lay down with her head in his lap. He patted the end of her hair, and Mina focused on a crease in his jeans and felt like she was five years old again. "What are they talking about?"

"Ah…I don't know." He rubbed his beard and focused on the game. "Maybe they're trying to think of a way to cheer you up."

She hummed a single note and didn't respond.

Dinner was an exercise in forced normalcy, with Jason and their dad talking way too much about the game they had watched that afternoon, including repeating themselves in certain parts, while Mina picked her way through the baked chicken and avoided her mother's glances. It was like high school again.

She retreated to her room immediately after dinner and was filling her sketchpad with useless circles when someone knocked on her bedroom door. "Is that you, Jace?"

The door opened a crack and Jason slid through. "Can I come in?"

She sighed and lowered the pad; she had been expecting this. "Sure, fine."

He moved a box of their mother's scrapbooking supplies out of the way and balanced himself backwards on her seldom-used desk chair, crossing his muscled arms over the back. "How's it going?"

"Jason, cut the shit."

"OK, fine." He lowered his chin to his crossed arms and focused on a point on the floor. "I have to ask you something."

Oh great, here it was. The evening air flowing through her window screen ruffled some rejected pages across her bedspread, and she let them blow to the floor. "What?"

"Um." He shifted in his seat. Before he could speak, her phone started vibrating on her bedside table. "Uh, do you want to answer that?"

"No." She knew who it was.

Jason waited until it fell silent before continuing. She braced herself. "So…you—would you mind um, if I took Grandma Fisher's ring? Her diamond?"

Mina blinked. She had been bracing herself for an emotionally draining conversation about her and Kevin, complete with a few lectures and unwelcome advice from Jason that were guaranteed to most likely not work, and this new path was throwing her for a loop. "What?"

He still wasn't meeting her eyes. "Would you mind if I took Grandma Fisher's ring? Mom said to work it out with you because she left it to both of us, and I know you don't wear diamonds and that…um."

"And what?"

"Um," he stammered. "I thought you might not care because Kevin would probably buy you your own someday or whatever you want instead of a diamond, and—"

"Sure." She didn't care what she was agreeing to, as long as it would get him to shut up about Kevin. "Wait, hold on, why do you want—Jason, are you--?"

A small, bashful smile peeked out as he ran his hands through his hair. "Um, yeah. I mean…"

A shock of emotion caused her to bolt upright. "Are you serious? Oh my God, Jason, are you really---oh my God. _Oh my God!_ Does Raye know? I mean, of course Raye doesn't know, but do you think she has any idea?"

"Um, no."

The sudden, insane urge to call Raye and tell her swept over Mina before she got her bearings together. She threw herself off the bed and hugged her brother while he was still sitting down. He was forced to pat her arm awkwardly as she squeezed him from behind. Mina was still hysterical. "Oh my God, how are you going to do this? How about at Le Guignol? It's still her favorite, right?"

"Uh."

"Wait, never mind, that's too public; Raye doesn't like public. Don't even think about doing it during a Kings show, she'll probably kill you. What about the park? At sunset or something?"

"Um."

"I know, that's clichéd. Can I tell Makoto? We'll think of something that will totally blow her away, I swear, and you know Makoto won't tell anyone."

"I, uh—"

"Please? I promise I won't tell Jesse. He'll give it away as soon as he sees her. Speaking of which, I don't know how Mom kept from spilling it at dinner. You know she usually starts crying over stuff like this."

"Well, she's worried about you."

She ignored him and kept going. "This is so exciting! Raye and I are going to be actual sisters! Why didn't you tell me before you were thinking about doing this?"

Jason started swiveling on the chair. "You seemed to be going through enough as it was, and um, don't get too excited yet. It may not happen for awhile."

"Huh?" She plopped down on her bed and leaned against the wall. "Why not? You've got the ring and there's no reason to wait. What's the big deal?"

He started rubbing his hair again, a sign of discomfort. "I wanted to wait until it gets cold and take her skiing."

Mina nodded. Raye was forever trying, to no avail, to drag Mina skiing again. The first and only time she had tumbled down the bunny slope and gotten snow in her nose, then promptly turned in her skis and spent the rest of the time at the lodge drawing the bare trees on the mountainside in black ink.

"I was going to ask her then. Like, put it in the middle of a snowball and give it to her."

"Aw!" That was cute; she didn't know Jason had that much sentimentality in him.

He leaned forward on his hands. "But I don't know if I can afford it this year."

Mina cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know. Work has been slow, and the Chevelle needs some repairs. I want to move us into someplace better, or at least somewhere that doesn't have a big freaking hole in the ceiling. So probably next year or something, maybe. I hope."

His wish was so bare and plaintive that Mina wasted no time in making her decision. "Screw next year, I'm making this happen now. How much do you need?"

"What?"

"How much do you need?" She crawled to the end of her bed and grabbed her handbag. The balance in her account had remained unchanged since she had come to her parents' house, but there still was a sizeable chunk remaining. Plus Jesse had called her to tell her that two more of her painting had sold, and the advance for Serena's book was coming soon. She stubbornly refused to acknowledge the amount that Kevin had put in there, too. "Ten grand? Fifteen? That should take care of your car and a security deposit somewhere, and probably enough for Aspen. Unless you want to do like, take her to Switzerland or something. In that case I'd better make it twenty."

Jason looked like he had just witnessed a land mine exploding under his car. "Mina."

"Good thing Raye speaks French. More than me, at least."

"Mina, I'm not taking your money."

"Huh?" She opened her brand-new checkbook, and thought of how the first check she was ever going to write was going to such a worthy cause. "Of course you are. Why not? This way you can get all that other crap out of the way, move into a bigger place with Raye, and get married. She'd better make me her maid of honor!"

"I'm not taking your money," he repeated, exasperated. "It's too much."

She shook her head. "Jason, it's not a big deal."

"Yes it is."

"No, it's not." She picked her head up, and tried her best to look convincing. Didn't he realize that he _had_ to do this? "Come on, Jace, it's just freaking money, and right now I have a lot of it. I can't think of a more worthy cause than you and Raye getting married. Plus I won't miss it, and I'd rather you have it and be happy."

He was smiling at her, but not in an amused way. "So why did you get mad at Kevin for doing the same thing?"

She lowered her pen, wondering if he had been waiting for this the entire time. "That's different."

"How?" He rolled the chair closer to her, and she was forced to meet her brother's eyes. They were the same exact shade of blue. and it was like looking into a strange, gender-bending mirror sometimes. "He just wanted you to be happy, too."

"He lied to me," Mina sighed. "It wasn't an offer, it was just a…he just did it without me knowing. It felt like he didn't trust me to take care of myself, so he had to do it for me."

Jason shrugged. "Honestly? I don't think that was his intention. I think he just wanted you not to have to worry about money."

"I don't need his help." She turned her body to the window. "He could have just been doing it to control me."

"What?"

You heard me." She settled back. "What if that's why? What if it's so I would always be dependent on him? Once he got sick of me, I'd be screwed."

Jason was frowning. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Casey said—"

"What?" His eyes widened. "When? At Jesse's party?"

"Yeah, and he was right, I was just—"

"So you're listening to your ex who screwed you over hard, broke your trust, and almost ruined your career, and had proven to be an absolute festering asshole time and time again, over your boyfriend who loves and respects you."

She fought back the tears that were beginning to form, although it was just her brother, and she had never had any qualms about crying in front of him before this. "He doesn't respect me. He said I was a stripper."

Now it was Jason's turn to look away. "Yes, he did, but I really don't think he meant it."

She scoffed. "How do you know?"

"I talked to him."

"What? When?" Now she was wondering who else he had talked to. Come to think about it, she hadn't heard from Raye that day. Or Jesse.

"You know, doing stuff. Basketball. Over drinks. Mina, really, he poured his heart out to his girlfriend's brother. If he really meant it, I think he would do his best to avoid me and a beat down."

One of her pillows made its way into her arms, and she folded her body around it. "What did he say?"

"He said that he didn't mean it, and that he was just angry because he found out

that you had talked to Casey, and he must have apologized a thousand times about it and asked me to talk to you."

"I knew it."

"Oh, get over it. He just wants to talk to you. He said that you're not picking up your phone."

The offending object was blinking with a new voicemail message. "I don't know what to say."

"Well then," Jason said, standing up. "Why don't you just listen?"

He was almost out of the door before she called him back. "Jason?"

He stopped and turned. "Yeah?"

Mina pulled her mouth up and held out a slip of paper. "If you don't take it, I'm going to deposit it into your account anyway."

Jason looked at the floor briefly, seeming to struggle with an internal decision, before taking the check from her. "I'll pay you back."

"You'd better not," she said. "Consider it a wedding gift."

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Need to borrow gas money now?" she laughed, and then stopped when she realized his face was serious. "What is it?"

He nodded towards her phone. "At least give him some courtesy and stop ignoring his calls."

"I—" she started, and the tears that had been threatening finally surfaced and slipped out. "Jason, he never hung up my painting."

He sat down on her bed and pulled her into a hug. "That doesn't mean anything," he murmured into her hair.

She took a quavering breath. "No. It means everything."

* * *

The courts were empty. Almost everyone had canceled but Noah, and it was a welcome relief. Experience had proven that if there was anyone who could fix any problem, especially those relating to plumbing or electrical grids, it was the engineer with the knack for unscrambling the root of the problem by looking at the big picture.

But right now, the innovative engineer was uncharacteristically silent as they made their way through a game of HORSE.

What a combination. He was too emotionally stunted to ask for help, and Noah was too reserved to be forthcoming. Kevin threw up a terrible shot and bricked it off the rim. "Shit."

Noah recovered and rolled the ball between his hands, trying to appear nonchalant, and failing. "So…how's it going?" The distraction caused him to miss by inches. "Shit."

Kevin chased after the ball and posted back up. The ball made a hollow clanking in the empty court as it hit the floor. "You mean with Mina?" The thought of her stabbed him somewhere; the confidence from Raye's pep talk had long since worn off.

Noah swallowed. "Yeah."

He looked at the ground, wondering how all of a sudden, he felt uncomfortable talking to Noah, when in fact he was the one who had called and confirmed that Noah was going to playing that night. He suddenly felt both so old and so stupidly adolescent that he almost had to stop himself from scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor. "Not good."

"Anything I can do?"

He let a ghost of a smile flutter briefly across his face. "Fix things."

His opponent checked the ball in response. "Um."

"Yes?" he prodded.

Noah spun the ball, letting the motion focus his thoughts. "Maybe you shouldn't."

This new bit of information was contrary to all previous advice given. "Come again."

"It's not, it's like. OK, well, I don't know how to put this."

"Just put it out there." Kevin was holding his breath without realizing it. He was suddenly terrified that Noah would change his mind and stop talking.

The taller man sighed and fixated on a point across the courts. "This is going to sound weird, and go against everything in your nature, because I had to struggle with it too. So, like, I know you're having uh, problems in you—with Mina, and it's just like, when I first got together with Makoto…"

_Great. Anecdotes. _

"—I had to get over this mental block of seeing everything as a problem I had to fix. You know?"

He remained silent, mentally cataloguing all of the self-labeled problems of Mina's that he had attempted to rectify, although she had never ever asked him to…

Noah continued, trying to spin the ball on his finger and failing. "So, basically I had to learn that supporting my wife isn't about providing things and money, and giving her stuff, but more about supporting her needs and emotions, even if it means I don't really DO anything but step back and let her sort it out." He smiled at a distant memory. "Believe me, I wasn't happy when she told me she was buying a coffee shop when our kid was only a month old. Looking back, I was a total asshole about it, but it was her decision."

"It was your money."

His friend shrugged with one shoulder and threw up a perfect shot through the net, not even touching the rim. "That's true, but it was her dream. I should have just shut up and let her try, and if it failed, it failed. There were a couple months where we were barely speaking to each other, all because of a freaking coffee shop. I spent way too long being miserable and angry over it before my brother and Jason basically kicked me in the head and made me realize I love Makoto and Aja more than a coffee shop and my stupid pride."

He paused, and looked over at Kevin, who was frozen in place. He had never seen the other man look so serious. "Kev, really, as your friend…I can never get those months back, and all because I couldn't trust the person that I had entered a partnership with."

The ball bounced past him, and rolled away. They both let it go. "How do I fix it?"

A hand clapped on his shoulder, large and calloused enough to fix most household problems, and gentle enough to cup his daughter's tiny head. "Just trust her. It might mean not doing anything for the time being. You know her. You can trust her."

He watched the basketball rolling away. "Hey, Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"Regardless of-of what happens?" His voice tripped over the words, not used to sentimentality. "We're going to Vegas, the two of us."

Noah smiled and scooped up the ball. "Play you for who pays."

"You're on."

Kevin threw the game, but made Noah agree to pay for drinks.

* * *

Mina's eyes were focused blankly on a point across the room as she listened to her father shuffling around in the hallway upstairs. Moments later, more familiar noises followed: the dog's nails clicking against the linoleum as he made his way out of the kitchen, the pipes filling as someone used the bathroom, a thump coming from Jason's room as something heavy fell to the floor. She scratched at the corner of her pad with her thumbnail and for a moment, forgot that she was living in the present. Maybe she should go upstairs and have a slap fight with her brother for old times' sake.

_Stop it._ She mentally chided herself for allowing the slip of humor. It had no place with her right now, in her parents' kitchen, in the middle of the night.

She sat at the kitchen table and patiently waited for her family to get settled and go to sleep. The sketchpad, _that_ sketchpad, was open before her, and enough ambient light streamed in through the window for her to see the princesses smiled and danced in their garden, blithely unaware that their destiny would end with them as jeweled accents in a golden crown. Perhaps forever.

For as long as she had been hiding out, she hadn't touched the sketches that she was supposed to be working on for Serena's book, or anything else, for that matter.

_This is what happens when you fall in love. _

The refrigerator kicked on and began to hum in the dark kitchen.

Her eyes fell back to the pad, and then to a dark smudge against one side. She leaned in, squinting in the low light to better examine the mark.

It was a fingerprint.

His fingerprint.

Mina lowered her chin to the table without taking her eyes off the smudged print, not realizing that her breath had stopped in her lungs like stagnant water. It must have been left behind from when he handed her the pad as she had walked out. She stared at it a moment. He had left marks on her life, and she couldn't ignore them no matter how many phone calls she refused to answer, or how deeply she buried her head in the sand and hid at her parents' house and pretended that she could successfully wait out the storm.

She should never have gotten in this position. Look where it had brought her, sitting alone and scared without a clue as to what to do next. One finger reached out and traced the print, careful not to touch or smear it. In the dim light, she could barely make out the whorls and loops in the middle: a mark of his on her canvas.

The scene blurred as tears filled her lower lids. He was everywhere on her; he was in her. She couldn't place at what point it had happened; it was easy to point to moving in together, but it had happened before that, without her realizing. Scenes flipped by in her mind as she reflected on how a person who was so unlike her had fit so easily in her life.

Or maybe not so easily. She had nowhere to live. Her fledgling career was shaky at best. Her friends thought of her as a quirky little oddity, charming in her penury and the scribbles that she created for a living. Her greatest work hung in the back room of a gallery. The person that she had loved, perhaps too quickly, thought of her as nothing more than a plaything. He didn't respect her. No one did.

Before she knew what she was doing, her hands were tearing sheets from the pad. Weeks of effort, hours of shading, delicate lines drawn with a steady hand and practiced eye crumpled into balls of thick paper. She didn't stop until she reached a blank page on the pad, and tried to steady her gasping breath.

_No. No, you're not going to do this to me. It will not happen. Not again. Never again. _

Her body seemed to move on autopilot as she swept the crumpled pages into her arms and practically ran to the sink. After dumping them unceremoniously into the sink, she ripped open the kitchen drawers, no longer caring about the amount of noise she was making, and how it would probably draw her mother downstairs and to her side. Her fingers fumbled through the detritus until she found a suitable tool. Not a box of matches or a lighter, but a barbeque starter. It would do the trick. She had to flick it several times before a flame jetted out of one end, and then touched it to the crumpled paper.

The princesses, their loves, and Mina's hopes and dreams turned to black ash in the stainless steel sink basin. It didn't process in her mind what she was doing until the last page shrank into a ball of withered flame.

She couldn't bear to watch it anymore. Her legs gave out from underneath her, and she slid to the floor and leaned her head back against the cabinets, the linoleum cool against the backs of her legs. Her pulse hammered as she stared across the dark kitchen, finally resting on the glowing digital numbers on the microwave. It was midnight.

_What now what now._

Mina closed her eyes and wished to be someone else.

She was shocked out of her stupor by her cell phone vibrating against the kitchen table.

The words didn't come to her at first. She held the phone between her palms like a relic, before flipping it open and bringing it slowly, too slowly, to her ear.

_Not by you. Anyone but you. Why did you do it? How could you? I would have done anything. For you. _

"Don't call me anymore. I have nothing to say to you."

The air blowing out from underneath the refrigerator was warm, but her body was still cold. She closed the phone before he had a chance to respond.

She knew it would be hours before she could feel anything, so she simply sat alone in the dark kitchen and listened to the lulling hum of the refrigerator.

The ashes in the sink smoldered and fell to pieces.

* * *

In another city, a lone figure sitting in the dark stared at the phone until the screen went dark. The glass encased in his death grip seemed destined to hurl across the room and shatter, but it was dropped wordlessly to the carpet instead.

* * *

She spent the next day in a numb cocoon, ignoring the clawing pain in her stomach and putting on a happy face for her family. Tomorrow, she would return to the city with Jason. She hadn't mentioned yet that she might need to stay with him for a few days before garnering enough strength to make arrangements for her things to be moved. Jason would be saddened to hear her decision, but she could see no other way to start healing than a clean break. Maybe she would wait until he was at work. She knew he would probably throw himself into work and ignore the rest of the world.

Especially her.

Early in the afternoon she realized that she had burned more than her pictures, and she felt a fresh stab of pain when she thought of Serena, and how she probably would never work with her again. She couldn't see any reason why they would stay in touch.

She busied herself for the rest of the afternoon with packing and stretched a task that should have taken a few minutes into a few hours, so that she wouldn't have to talk to anyone throughout the day.

She was done with talking.

Her mother knocked lightly on her door. "Mina?"

"Yes?"

"There's someone here for you." Her mother swallowed. "At the front door."

Mina's blood ran cold, and she had to sit down quickly when her knees buckled.

_Oh no._


	7. Chapter 7 Wise Words from Wise Men

CHAPTER 7 Wise Words from Wise Men

* * *

Mrs. Aino grabbed Zach's plate from underneath his fork, causing him to stab at the table and leave a smattering of yellow crumbs behind. "Here, have some more."

He certainly was good with mothers, Mina admitted to herself as she watched her mother shovel another slice of cake in front of the curly-haired, rumpled figure in a faded navy blue hoodie and fraying cargo pants. He knew just the right compliment and wide-eyed expression to bring out the maternal smothering in her usually-cool mother. Her elbows were aching from leaning them on the kitchen table for so long; she pulled back and rubbed them with her palms while pulling her feet onto the chair.

Her mother frowned at her. "Mina, put your feet down." She was back to scolding her; the presence of the interloper seemed to fill her mother with optimism. Mina knew her reasoning: if Zach was here, it was because something was happening, and it could only be something good.

She didn't have the heart to tell her, yet. Let her imagine Zach was her daughter's savior, and stuff him with cake.

Those few seconds as she had headed towards the door she had allowed herself to feel hope. Just a touch. Maybe she would let him see her for a second before she fled, just to drive home what he would be missing. She had no plan for what would happen after that first second.

But it wasn't him on her doorstep.

But Zach was no less intimidating, even though he looked like (and smelled like) he had slept in the back of a Volkswagen van.

"Mina!" He had hugged her, smiling, like none of the drama between her and his best friend had ever happened. She was too shocked to pick up her leaden arms to hug him back.

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, running a hand through his wheat-colored curls. "I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd stop by."

Obvious bullshit, since she noticed a stub of a boarding pass flutter out of his battered backpack when her mother pulled him inside the house. He had introduced himself as a friend of Kevin's. Minutes later, she was feeding him.

"More coffee?" Her mother refilled his cup without waiting for an answer. Mina rolled her eyes; if she didn't stop the current tide, there would be rack of lamb in the oven in no time.

"Thanks, Mrs. Aino." God, he could even make his voice sound like Beaver Cleaver. She resisted the urge to reach across the table and pull his sleeves up to reveal his tattoos. Not that it would even shock her mom; she had nearly let her daughter marry a guy with clichéd hipster forearm stars.

Her mother slid into an empty seat and cupped her hands around her own coffee cup. "So what do you do, Zach? You look like a very creative person."

His eyebrows wagged at the compliment. "I'm retired."

Mrs. Aino's blue eyes blinked behind her glasses as she laughed softly. "Oh how nice."

"No really. Well, I mess around with a blog sometimes, and I buy a lot of commercial real estate, but other than that, I'm fully enjoying my permanent exit from the workforce." He slurped a mouthful of coffee. "Great coffee. Jamaican Blue Mountain?"

Mina noted that her mother's smile was frozen in place. "Are you sure you're a friend of Kevin's?"

"His nearest and dearest. Do you know if it's fair trade or not? No worries if it's not. But I know a guy that grows his own organic espresso roast in Kona. I can hook you up."

The back door banged open as Jason returned, unhooking the dog from his leash. "You guys sure you don't want come back with me? I've got to leave soon." He crossed the kitchen to exchange a quick bro-slap with Zach.

"Nope, we're good," Zach said before Mina could get a word in. He had barely been in her house for five minutes before declaring that he was her ride back into town, despite showing up without a car.

She was not having someone make decisions for her again. "I'm going with you, Jace."

Zach choked on his cake. "I thought you were coming back with me."

Now her mother was looking at her sideways. "Zach came all this way."

She nearly doubled over. "Without a car! Jason has a car. I'm going with him."

"Mina." He said her name in the same manner as Kevin did sometimes: a bit too brusque to be polite, but with enough gravitas to make her sit up and pay attention. They caught each other's glances across the table, and Mina found herself pinned like a butterfly specimen under his piercing stare. Out of the corners of her eyes, she noticed that both Jason and her mother were fixated on them, but she couldn't look away from Zach. Kevin's usually flippant, carefree friend was temporarily absent, and in his place was the cutthroat businessman that he had replaced. It was easy to forget that he had ever existed, but he was back, and he was in charge. "I need to talk with you. You know what it's about. Then I promise, I will take you back with no argument."

Despite her earlier promise, Mina sighed and gave in. "All right."

With those two words, he dropped his fork and slid back into the easy grin of a lifelong chronic. "All _right_ all _right_ all _right_! Want to go for a walk?"

* * *

Mina's mother made her take a sweatshirt. The nights were cool, even more so away from the city's insulating layer of car exhaust and concrete. The streetlights had just popped on to blend with the porch lights of the other houses, illuminating the chalk drawings on the sidewalk that some child had left behind. Mina breathed in the smell of fading heat and mown grass and wondered where the fireflies had gone. They used to always be around, and now it seemed that they had faded along with her childhood. "Where are we going?"

Zach was craning his neck, checking out the modest houses along the street. "You lived here. You tell me."

"Then why did you—OK whatever," She nodded up ahead at the corner. "We can go to the park. It's a couple of blocks that way."

He nodded. "Let's do that. Hey." She turned to face him, shoving her hands in her pockets. In the distance, an ambulance siren blared, and a few dogs joined in. Zach shifted and pulled a hand out of his pocket and scratched his nose. "Sorry I barged in on you. I pretty much figured you wouldn't answer your phone if I called."

"No, I would have!" The volume and pitch was too high; he would know that she was lying. He didn't call her out on it, though.

They reached the park right as the last natural light expired, revealing a shining quarter moon. It reminded Mina of the storybook princesses that she had just burned, so she forced her eyes to look at the ground instead.

"We used to come here a lot," she said to Zach as they crossed the grass over to the swing sets, kicking dead leaves out of the way. School had started, and the usual packs of teenagers playing of pickup ball were conspicuously absent. "Jason and I. They used to have these really heavy animal swings; they were made out of metal or something. Mine was a seahorse." Mina smiled as she settled back into a swing. Zach dropped into the one next to her, and almost by instinct, they both kicked slightly and started swinging. "I named her Seahorse."

"Original."

"I know, right?" The bottom of her Chuck Taylor scraped the sparse gravel under the swing, kicking up clouds of dust. "Jason's was a dog, except he would call it the "wolf". I thought all dogs were wolves until I was like, in kindergarten. I told the other kids that we had a baby wolf and they all laughed at me." She smiled at Zach. "So Jason came and beat them up for me."

"Hm," Zach said. "He's a good brother. He looks out for you." The swing chains clanged against the metal frame as they swayed back and forth. "A lot of people do."

Mina lowered her face and didn't respond.

Zach was a persistent bastard. "It's OK to let them."

A swath of hot fire cut through her body. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what?" His feet hit the ground as he skidded to a standstill, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, shiny object. "Wanna burn?"

"Huh?" A crumpled plastic Ziploc bag came out next. Zach reached inside and pinched a bud between his fingers, and then broke off a small piece and packed it into the glass bowl in his other hand.

Mina blinked, incredulous. "You—you brought _weed_?"

"No, what are you, crazy?" he huffed. "You can't go through airport security checkpoints with freaking _bud_ on you."

"So where did you—"

"I bought it at the corner shop at the end of your street right before I came over."

"Are you kidding? Mrs. Yang's store?"

He pulled a flat square out of his pocket and struck a match. Mina had never seen anyone light a bowl that way. He took a few quick inhaling breaths, sucking in the smoke before it could curl away, and shook out the match. "Yeah, Mrs. Yang—" His face scrunched into a mass of crinkles as he hacked out a bursting lungful of smoke. "Has a 'gardening' business on the side, ah." He bent slightly and coughed some more. "Sorry. My sinuses get all dry from that fucking recycled air on the plane."

It had been a long time since she had partaken in the sticky green--way before she had met Kevin--but she accepted the bowl in slightly trembling fingers. "Don't you have a lighter?" she asked when he passed her the matchbook.

He helped her relight the smoldering buds with a match. "And add more bullshit plastic to the over-capacity landfills? Fuck that. There's enough microplastic in the ecosystem to give us birth defects for the next three generations, and it was all added in the last half of the twentieth—"

"OK!" Mina coughed out a huge cloud of scorching smoke. It was better not to get Zach going on one of his tirades, although it was probably preferable than what he was really there to talk about. Might as well get it over with, she reasoned, still coughing out of a burned, aching throat.

Zach brought the bowl to his lips again and struck a match one-handed; he obviously had it down to a science. He took another huge hit, held it in, and then exhaled a smoke plume the size of a small zeppelin. "Ugh. This shit's harsh. Probably grown in fucking dirt, goddamn hicks."

"Zach!"

"What?" He hocked and spit in the dirt.

She took the offered bowl again. "I know you're not here to assess the quality of weed in my neighborhood."

"What? You don't know that," Zach said, twirling back and forth on his swing seat. "Maybe I'm here to specifically check out the ganj in small town America. A weed tour, if you will."

Mina's head was beginning to inflate and fuzz away as she took another hit. "Zach."

"The next town over looked promising. Lots of TCBYs. You don't put those up unless you have a significant stoner population. Those and twenty-four-hour White Castles."

"Zach!"

"What?" His eyes were beginning to get glassy. "Hey, when we're done here, we should go to TCBY. They have this slushie thing called a Juicy Orange, and it tastes like a real orange." He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. "Or we like, get a real orange. Oh, but then it's not cold. The coldness is the goodness of the Juicy Orange."

Mina started giggling compulsively. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

The giggles turned to braying laughter. "You're making—making me laugh when all I've been doing for the past week is—" Her laughter petered out, and the aching in her chest returned. "—is, um, cry."

Her statement partially killed the buzz they had going. Zach busied himself by scraping the ash out of the bowl with a fingernail. Mina waited for him to speak.

There was no humor in his voice when he did. "Where do you want to start?"

She shrank a bit into herself, her thoughts breaking into fractured pieces. "I've made my decision."

"So I've heard."

"You did," she said. "I guess you did."

He swiveled the chain until he was facing her, his eyes lit up like fire through the haze of THC. "And you're completely set on it?"

"I—I guess so."

"You guess so? Why? Why now?"

"It's—"

"You're just going to give up on him? Do you even know what you're fighting about?"

_Enough._ "Zach, do you know what he said to me? Your friend?"

He didn't even give her the chance to pick up steam. "Yeah, I do. I know it was fucking bullshit thing to say to the person you love, and I would kick his fucking ass if I were you, but don't put this all on him!"

That outburst was unexpected. "What?"

"You heard me," Zach said blandly, firing up another match. He took a hit from the bowl. "Now, I don't know everything, so stop me if I'm way off base, but you hid things from him too."

"I did not!"

"Really?" Zach coughed dryly. "So why did he go for so long thinking everything was OK?"

She turned from him and waited for her face to stop burning. "That's not true. I—"

The buds smoldered and went out, and he didn't make any move to relight them. A cricket started chirping somewhere in the dark grass, and it was several long moments before he continued. "Mina, look, I get—that Kevin doesn't always get it, you know. I—I've been through a lot with him."

"I know."

"I don't think you do." He sighed. "I know you know everything that went down with us in high school."

"About the drugs?"

"Yeah, _that._ I'll spare you my unorthodox albeit correct view on our country's misguided 'war on drugs' and just remind you that the dumb fuck almost went to jail for me because…well, just because he's that kind of guy. But you should already know that about him."

She didn't respond.

Zach soldiered on. "It took me a long time to figure out why he did all that for me. I mean, there was nothing for him to gain: he got kicked out of school, his parents nearly died of shame, there are some relatives that still hide the silver when he comes over…not to mention the brush with getting thrown in 'pound me in the ass' prison—"

"Zach—"

"OK, that's a bit much. _Juvenile_ 'pound me in the ass' prison."

"Zach—"

"Juvenile 'shank me in the side' prison." That last one made him snicker. "Sorry, I digress. Where was I?"

The outburst had made her smile for a second. "You were telling me why Kevin took the fall for you."

"Oh yeah. And nearly went to juvenile 'make me your bitch' prison. Um, yeah. So that." His face went blank for a second before snapping back to focus. "I won't lie to you and tell you that he never does thoughtless things - because fuck, I couldn't get his drunken ass to call me back for two weeks. He does it because he cares about you, Mina. He cared about me when we were stupid high school kids and he took the fall for me because he knew he could get out of things that I couldn't. He didn't want my life to be difficult when he had the power to change it positively."

She reached over and pulled the bowl out of his hands. "So you're saying he couldn't stand back and let me fix my own problems."

Either that statement or his buzz made him pull a comically hilarious expression. "What? No! What are you talking about?"

"I don't know! You started this!"

"Maybe I shouldn't have blazed," Zach muttered, taking the bowl back from her hands and lighting a match. "Look, Mina, Kevin's wasted so much of his life on his job - which I KNOW you know my feeling on investment bankers. Soulless bastards that take your money and splurge on lavish yacht parties while sending you bank statements showing your losses. I know. I was one." He paused to take another hit of the pipe. "This really is schwag. Tell Mrs. Yang to stop letting the dog pee where it grows.

Anyway," he continued. "You gave him something to care about - something to come home to other than a random hotel in some random city. _The fuck_ you didn't change him. I couldn't tell you the last time that Kevin actually lived in a home that he owned. You changed that about him and now you are going to sit here and tell me that you don't understand why he did what he did?"

"I didn't change him!" Mina waved away a cloud of smoke. "It didn't work that way. He was padding my bank account and not telling me, Zach. That was dishonest."

"How did you guys split expenses then?" he asked. He must have noticed her averting her eyes. "Oh come on! Don't tell me you guys didn't even talk about it."

"Not really," Mina admitted.

His double-take was heavily exaggerated; being high seemed to propel him into overdramatic, highly-concentrated Zach. "What? Why? You two dated for—how long? And moved in together? And you never sat down and talked about that kind of shit? Why?"

Without the protective barrier of sobriety, her guard was down. "Because it makes me uncomfortable!"

Zach scoffed so hard he nearly lost his balance. A lucky instinct kicked in and he caught the chain of the swing to keep from tipping backwards and headplanting into the ground. "OK no offense, but I'm a freaking eco-yuppie stoner who hasn't had a real honest-to-G-d relationship in…well, ever, but even I know that one is supposed to function as a partnership, not a loose alliance between two separate parties that compromise between sporadic bouts of communication. And brain-melting sex."

"Look, I just didn't want to depend on someone again. After Casey…" she sighed. "Casey fucked me over."

He let his head tip back as he stared at the stars, his green eyes far away. "If I wasn't so high, I'd say 'Casey fucked you _up' _Mina, but that's rude and I won't say it out loud. I'll just _think _it really loud."

"Zach?"

"What?"

Her voice was dry. "You did say it out loud."

"Oh. Sorry." He hocked again; Mrs. Yang's scrub brush was apparently creating havoc in his mucous membranes. "Well it's about fucking time that someone did. Now either take a hit off that pipe or give it back."

She gave it back. "I'm sorry, I'm just-I haven't been with someone who actually—" She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and tried to center herself. "--who actually loves me."

He blinked once before striking another match. "Go back to him, Mina. Let him apologize; tell him what a massive asshole he is, then have some of the best make-up sex ever. Because you're right: he loves you. I haven't seen him in love since uh…huh. Maybe never? No wait—Tasha Corey, junior year, and maybe that Italian girl with the clothes. No, not the Italian. He never called her back. I did."

Mina let her hair fall in front her face and leaned her head against the swing chain to hide her smirk. "Did he ever call those girls strippers?"

That statement cut Zach off at an impasse; he froze with his mouth open and his index finger pointed up like Socrates. "Uh…"

"Exactly."

He let a few moments pass by before bursting out: "Well, were you?"

"Zach!" If he weren't a moving target, she would have tried to hit him. "Fine, I did, OK? One, I needed the money, and for your information I was a _burlesque_ dancer. Burlesque dancers are NOT the same as strippers. God, don't let Raye ever hear you say that or she'd smack the curl right out of your hair."

His hand went up to his head and he patted it reassuringly. "My mistake."

She settled back. "That's OK."

Zach rubbed his eyes. "Listen, I am high, _really _high, but the stripper thing? It's not such a big deal as you think."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really. Hee hee, yes really." He said that last part in a high pitched lisp, and continued. "Oh really, ORLY."

"Cut it out!"

"Sorry, if you get to stall, so do I." Zach turned back to her. "What's really the issue, Mina? The money? The apartment? Do you want him to quit his job so that you don't have to worry about how much more he's making than you? Although I've been trying to convince him to do that for years and he doesn't seem to know good advice when he hears it." He paused and realized had lost himself in another tangent. "Heh. I digress again. What's bothering you?"

This was the question she didn't want to answer, not to her parents or friends, not to Zach, not to Kevin. Especially not to herself. The truth of the subject might send her into a vortex of introspection that she might not be able to crawl out of. But now that it was voiced out loud, she couldn't stall anymore. "I miss him."

"You do?"

"Yeah." The dirt at her feet glowed amber under the streetlights; for the first time in days, she wished she had her paintbox with her so she could make that color. The words spilled out of her like water rushing through a hole. "I really loved him, Zach. I could depend on him to let me do whatever I wanted. It was weird, like, there would be times when something would happen, just stupid little things, like I would be out with him, at some stupid dinner or party at one of his coworkers homes--"

Zach interrupted her by audibly groaning. "Oh G-d, did you get stuck at Mark Conway's house in Nassau? I hate that cockbag."

"Yeah, that was one of them. Anyway, we would go, and if I wasn't happy, he would take me home. Casey would have fought me, and made me feel bad so that I would stay, or else would leave and make me feel bad later, but Kevin never did that. He would always do what he said; he was always somewhere when he said he was going to be, he would do things for me and not expect me to do it in return." A laugh too tired to be a giggle momentarily bubbled to the surface. "My God, he would go with me to all of these gallery openings and never complain about them, even though half of them were enough to drive me to insanity, and I was friends with those people and..." She took a breath, realizing that she was gushing, but not caring anymore. It felt good to get it out like this. "And every time he came home, he'd be so happy to see me. And I would be so happy to see him. He made me happy."

She felt the pressure of a hand on her shoulder, and looked over to see Zach straining sideways on his swing to be able to reach her. The sight of him made her roll her eyes and smile.

Zach's voice was warm when he spoke. "He still wants to see you happy, Mina. I know he does."

Her eyes were filling with tears again, but she blinked them back, even though it burned. Zach's hand trailed down until it was grasping hers. "Can you at least go back and tell him this? I can't force you guys back together, but can you at least do that? I think you owe it to each other."

The wind batted her hair around her face; it was getting cold, and late.

"I already told him that it was over."

Zach sighed as he released her hand. He held the small dime bag up to the streetlight as if that would somehow cause it to magically refill. "Good, now you both said equally stupid things. At the very least let's get out of here and back to the city where I can score some decent Purple Haze. You ever try that? It's like sucking a buttery cannabis dick, unlike this fucking scrub."

For the first time in days, Mina laughed. She reached across the divide and planted her hand on Zach's chest, right on the zipper of his hoodie, and pushed him backwards off the swing. His legs flew up comically as he landed on his back in the dirt. "Oh, you gutterslut," he muttered, but made no move to get up.

"Zach, never change."

"You know what would be really good right now? Ice cream. With sprinkles."

Her mouth watered at the thought of sugary, creamy coldness. "Rainbow ones."

"No, wait. I changed my mind. I want an ice cream cone--a WAFFLE cone--with sprinkles, and no ice cream."

She frowned. "Then it's just jimmies."

"Yeeeah. A cone full of sprinkles." Zach stuck out his tongue as if he was going to lick his lips, but seemed to forget about the purpose halfway through the action and spoke around his outstretched tongue. "You know what else?"

"Huh?"

Before she had a chance to react, he pulled her down into the dirt with him. "HA! Now you're all dirty and the Dairy Queen people are going to laugh at you."

"I doubt it," Mina groaned, getting to her feet. "I used to work there in high school."

"Get the fuck out." She nodded. "Damn, why didn't you say so? Hook a brother up!"

* * *

When they returned to her parents' house, frozen confections in hand, Jason was waiting patiently on the front porch with the light off. Mina frowned and licked a trail of melting ice cream off of the back of her hand. "Jace? What are you doing out here?" He should have left hours ago. Inside the house, she could see the flickering lights coming from the living room as her parents watched television in companionable silence.

He shrugged and put his baseball hat back on. "You guys don't have a ride and I'm not about to leave you here. You want to take off now or wait until tomorrow morning?"

Mina yawned and dropped her exhausted body on the porch step. Her mind was too blurry to face anything that night that was more complex than the stump of her waffle cone. "Tomorrow. You can crash here tonight, Zach."

He dropped onto a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well _yeah_. Where else was I going to sleep? On the sidewalk?" He yawned, stretching his boyish face out. "Can I sleep in your bed?"

"No!"

"Sorry, had to try."

Jason had been silently examining their exchange. "I can't believe this shit."

Mina blinked up at her brother from her porch step. "What?"

He frowned and glanced quickly at the front door before continuing in a whisper: "You guys smoked without me."

"How do you know?" Mina whispered. A glob of ice cream fell from her cone and splattered on the sidewalk, and she wasted half a minute watching the milky liquid run down the cement step.

"Uh, you're covered in dirt, Zach's got grass in his hair, you just wolfed down a Blizzard like the antidote's at the bottom, and you could use about a gallon of Visine." He looked genuinely pissed off. "I can't believe you didn't call me."

Mina snapped her eyes away from the white splotch on the ground. "Jace, we had shit to talk about. Stop whining."

Zach popped up like his backside was made of springs. "It's cool, I'm down to smoke again if you are. Go for a walk?"

"I'm down."

She watched the two figures take off down the dark sidewalk and pulled her sweatshirt. Zach's voice faded as they moved farther away. "For the record, Mrs. Yang sells terrible weed."

"Ugh, never buy off of her. Ask for Billy Yang."

* * *

"Don't call me anymore. I have nothing to say to you."

That was it, and it was done.

It took about a half an hour for him to process while sitting alone in the dark, ignoring the nagging biological impulses of nourishment and sleep while trying to find where to compartmentalize that statement in his mind. After another half hour, he found it.

He was a failure at relationships.

The revelation was met with quiet acceptance rather than anvils dropping in his lap. A part of him had always known that he was destined to roll through life without pairing comfortably with a partner; his friends and associates seemed to pick up other people with ease. He always knew Serena would be swept away, story-book style, in an epic romance—her idealistic nature would grant her nothing less, but he was still reeling from how that turned out. He had thought that Darien would settle down with Trista, but both of them continuing their ridiculous charade until a explosive divorce, and then finding newer, younger models to restart the cycle. Kevin thought that Zach would bounce around until finding someone as annoying as himself, and then falling off the grid to save redwoods and breed a score of equally annoying little eco-warriors with curly Jewfros and hacky sacks in their pockets.

He had never pictured anything like that happening to him.

What had he pictured? Working a lot, probably taking over the whole shitbag one day, drinking a lot, scoring women who looked the same and remained the same age, even if he didn't. Buying something completely outrageous just because: a stadium, a media conglomerate, chunks of real estate, maybe an island. Sending nice things to his nieces and nephews. Getting his parents the very best home care when they grew infirm. Eventually dying without retiring.

And then one night, on his birthday, a beautiful young woman stripped down to her lingerie and revealed that when she wasn't enticing mortal souls with her angelic face and breathtaking body, she really liked to paint. She _lived_ to paint. He had looked her up, and discovered that she was good at it. _Really _good. He had always wondered what people wore under the armor, if the custom tailored suits and expensive haircuts hid things that they tried to bury. They all claimed to love golfing and boating and wine and cigars; it was always bullshit, since no one genuinely liked any of that crap unless their livelihood depended on it. Perhaps this generic junior account exec had a passion for camping, or writing novels, or building tree houses, or cooking. Perhaps that other one, the one that looked exactly like the first, was into bowling or making furniture or playing the violin. He would never know because they wouldn't tell him, or anyone, for that matter—but they would dissolve in their passions behind closed doors and those were the moments they lived for.

So what was his passion?

The only thing he could think of was Mina.

He knew there was not a creative bone in his body; his mind worked with analysis and numbers, not interpreting feelings into visualizations. He could never even attempt to do what she did every day, pouring her heart onto canvas and risking scathing criticism for scant words of praise. Maybe once in a while someone would study a painting and have an emotional response to it, churning up feelings that they didn't know existed. The first time he had laid eyes on _Victory_, he couldn't believe that it was made by a single person and a ton of acrylic paint. It seemed too incredible to be artificial.

She had taught him that, perhaps by accident: that life was lived outside the uniform. The best parts were moments between the drudgery that filled others with light. Her light shone too brightly to be buried; he wanted to grab her and hold her above the rooftops, shout to the world about her generous heart and her immense talent, have heads turn to her and worship her like a goddess, because to him, she was one. He wanted every day of her life to be as happy as he felt.

But it hadn't worked. He couldn't do it.

This was not for him.

There was no good place to start, so he went right for the core.

Her suitcase was shoved in the back of the closet, and to his dismay, was already filled with balled-up, seldom-worn clothing. _What the fuck?_ He pulled out a few of his instead; he could always buy new ones. Tomorrow, he could buy new ones.

The drawer that was emptied first was an unwise choice; the shirt lying on top was her Warhol tee with the cans, her favorite. He had never asked where she had gotten it, and what made her love it so much. It didn't matter anymore.

These shoes were probably Raye's; they would end up back with her.

He knew the story of the black dress. It was found at a consignment shop, was hand sewn, without a label, and fit her like a second skin.

A pair of blue panties with a faded Popsicle stain.

Cat hair clinging to an old cardigan sweater.

The black fedora.

A wooden box containing fifty thousand dollars worth of pearls. She hadn't taken it with her.

Art books on the nightstand with a cardstock flyer for an art show serving as a bookmark.

Cosmetics were tucked into plastic gallon ziplocks, including the unopened ones in the bathroom closet.

Those were the easy parts.

He hadn't entered the studio since she had gone, but there were boxes in there, and a painting half-finished propped on an easel: a human figure twisting around and reaching an arm out to something, or someone. How appropriate.

The paintings around the house came down first, and were slid into wooden boxes with the utmost care, and stacked against a wall.

She had played "Blonde on Blonde" on a continuous loop when painting the one with spikes of sap green against the cadmium yellow background. He knew all the names of the pigments by now.

The mercury vapor headlights of his car shining on the frozen street inspired the blurry wash of purple watercolor that somehow made up a picture of snow.

The creation of the one with sleek obsidian rock depicted in oil paints was so messy that it had obliterated her coveralls to rags.

He had helped stretch canvas for the collection of shapes that vaguely resembled a spaceship.

The phone rang, and he didn't even let himself have hope that it was she. His presumption was correct, but if he didn't answer, it meant an entire night of rapid fire calling and texting until someone picked up. "Yeah?"

"So?"

"So what?"

"Why do you think I'm calling you in the middle of the night? What's the deal? How'd it go?"

"It didn't." Strange, he thought those words would be harder to say.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it didn't, Zach. It's over. Sorry." He hung up the phone and continued the cleanout.

Zach called back, but he let it go to voicemail. Fuck it; they had the rest of their lives to hash out what went wrong, but he did take a look at the ensuing text message.

_fuck that goonies never say die!_

"Sure, Zach," he muttered, and turned the phone off.

It was past dawn when he quit for that day. All of her completed works were packed in crates, and he had run out of boxes to pack up the works in progress—he would have to make a few calls to take care of the rest.

The bathroom looked empty without her things around.

He took the garbage out.

And then went to Starbucks to avoid seeing Makoto that morning. _Coward._

The calls were easy enough to avoid, although Serena kept ringing in. He wondered if she had a sixth sense about things and knew what he was up to, even though he didn't answer. Finally, his assistant rang. "Mr. Chaston? Your sister is here."

_Goddamn it. _"Can you tell her I'm busy?"

"She's says you're not, and um—" There was a muffled noise as he covered the receiver. "She says if you don't open the door she's going to tell your mother that you killed her cat. On purpose."

He threw the Starbucks cup in the rubbish can and conceded. "Fine, let her in."

The door flew open like it was kicked and Serena stomped over to his desk in a blaze of stilettoed glory. Kevin frowned at her. "That was low, even for you."

"Oh shut up!" He couldn't instantly recall another incident in his life like this: Serena appeared to be genuinely angry. Her breath came in puffed gasps as she smoothed down her hair with both hands. "You suck!"

"Tell me something I don't know," he said, settling back in his chair. His eyeballs burned with fatigue. "You came all this way to yell at me? Do your best; everyone else got a shot."

"Zach called me! He told me that--"

Enough of this. "Stop it." Her mouth stopped moving. "I talked to her, and she doesn't want me in her life. I'm going to respect that."

"Argh!" She stomped one delicate black high heel with enough force to splinter a crater into the floor. "That's not what you're—true love is supposed to be like---this isn't the way it's supposed to happen! You're supposed to find a way to get her back you big idiot." Her breath was coming faster as her face flushed scarlet, and he instinctively reached for a box of tissues. She sank into a chair, minding to cross her ankles, and started weeping into a Kleenex. Kevin got up and patted her head.

"It's OK."

"No it's not!" she moaned into her hands. "This wasn't supposed to happen this way! You guys were supposed to have a happy ever after."

He put his hand on her quaking shoulder. "You still believe that?"

She lifted her head to look at him, her baby blue eyes swollen and red as the tears continued to fall. "Of course I do." She hiccupped, and he turned away to get her a glass of water. She downed half of it in one swallow. "I have to. I don't want to think of anyone ever having to be lonely, and…I know that you've been lonely."

That was enough to send him reaching for the scotch. "Don't worry about me."

"I can't help it," she said miserably. "You were…really happy with Mina. I could tell from the first time I met her at the Red Ball…it was different than any other one before." She paused and let out a small laugh. "I could tell you loved her so much."

"I know." He drained his glass and forced his tongue to continue the thought that had been circling his mind ever since he heard her voice that night. "I still do."

Serena let her head fall in a nod and sniffed. "You have cat hair on you."

"That doesn't matter."

"This isn't fair."

"Yes, it is."

"How can you say that? You've never dated anyone before except hoes, and they don't count."

"I guess I'm not cut out for this."

"That's such shit and you know it."

"I don't. And please, you're not making this any easier."

She threw him a disgusted look; for such a pretty girl, she could pull some scary faces. She must have got that from their mother. "Listen Kevin, you're not the only one losing someone here." Her hands fiddled nervously with the tennis bracelet on her arm. "You know, I wish we could have made more books together. Mina and I. I mean, we might be able to, but not in the same way, you know. It's like—she could see into my head sometimes, and draw exactly what my characters look like, without me telling her. I don't know if we could do that again."

The silence held for a few moments as neither sibling spoke. "I'm sorry," Kevin said.

"Yes, I know." She stood up and brushed the wrinkles off the front of her skirt. "What are you going to do now?"

He had just noticed that there was some housecleaning to do in the office, too. "I need to do one more thing. I may need your help."

Serena nodded, seemingly afraid to disagree. "Thanks," he murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder. She puts hers on top, and smiled up at him, traces of sadness still existing in her eyes.

The phone rang, and he pulled away from her to check the ID. "I have to take this."

She didn't change expression. "Do you really have to?"

His eyes didn't leave the string of numbers. "This one, yes."

* * *

Thankfully, Zach fell asleep in the backseat on the way back. "You have work to do today?" Mina asked, staring out the window at stark highway as the miles passed by.

"Some," Jason said nonchalantly. "Nothing too major. I was going to start looking into taking that trip, I guess. Thanks again."

"Stop thanking me," she muttered. Her brother was being exceptionally nice to her, along with both of her parents, after she had made the declaration that she was heading back to the city. Her mother had tears in her eyes when she hugged her goodbye.

He shot her a sideways glance, but she was too preoccupied to notice. "Do you know what you're going to do?"

"No." She traced her finger along the passenger's side door. Interesting texture; it had never occurred to her to draw the inside of Jason's car before, but the concept seemed appealing at the moment. "I guess I'm going to go home and talk to him."

"Good idea." She could tell that Jason was being deliberately noncommittal; he always felt the need to please everyone. "Do you know what you're going to say?"

"I don't know," she said blankly, still looking away. "I have no idea." She stopped and shifted around in her seat, rehearsing the scenario in her head. She needed to come prepared or she would fall apart, but she couldn't think of anything to say that didn't involve a huge emotional drain. Perhaps it was better to go in cold and see where it took her, although it couldn't be anywhere good. "I guess I'll just see what happens."

"Mina?"

"Yeah?"

Jason drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Don't worry. You'll be OK."

"You're just full of Dr. Phil, aren't you?"

"Hey, I'm about to be blissfully happy with my girlfriend. I want the same for my little sister."

The jolt she felt in her stomach meant it was definitely time to change the subject. "So, Aspen or Swiss Alps?"

"See, I'm kind of torn on that. If I break my leg in the States, I'll have to go through all of that health insurance bullshit and probably be eating generic Spaghetti-o's for the next five months."

"No you won't," Mina smirked. She had been there, and she sure as hell wouldn't let that happen to Jason.

"Yeah well, the Swiss will patch me back up and send me on my way without bankrupting me, but on the other hand, there's more of chance that I'll die on those slopes than Aspen. So now it's a choice between survivable injury and penury or potential death. Potential death is sounding better since we'll have a wedding to pay for, too."

A gasping snort came from the backseat as Zach started to snore. Mina grimaced at the sound; he sounded like a congested barnyard animal. Must be the shrub weed." You could just not get injured."

"There is absolutely no chance that I won't injure myself when there is a mountain and snow involved. Remember my senior trip?"

"At least it wasn't your throwing arm."

"Still hurt like hell."

"Who's going where?" a sleepy voice asked from the backseat. "I want to come."

"Jason and Raye are going on a ski trip, but you can't go, Zach. It's a trip with a purpose. Wanna see the ring?"

Zach was slouched in a half-recline, but his eyes popped open at that. "What? Are you serious?" He straightened. "You're taking Raye off the market permanently?"

Jason glanced in the rearview. "Yes?"

"Fuck," he muttered, leaning his head back and yawning. "Is she knocked up?"

"No."

"Goddamn it, I never got a chance to tap that. Eh, it's not that bad. Married women like me, too."

"Zach!"

"I'm kidding! G-d. I would never try and fuck one of my friend's wives." Mina glanced in the side mirror and noticed that he was looking at her when he said that. She reached forward and pushed the mirror angle away from her.

It wasn't long before the hazy view of the city peaked over the horizon. Traffic increased and then ground to a standstill, and inwardly, she was grateful for the delay. It still hurt to think of facing him, even though it was all she wanted in that moment. Jason sensed it, naturally. "Zach, you want to crash at my place?"

"Sure. Thanks. You want to _not_ crash at your place and leave me and Raye alone?"

"Nope. I don't trust you. Also, she would never forgive me."

"She would never _forget_ me." He grinned at the middle finger that sprung up at him.

Five miles. Three. Two. Four blocks. One block, and then Jason turned the corner and they were on her street. Her throat closed up with anxiety as he pulled in front of her building. The doorman bounded over to the door and then the path to the entrance was open, and she had no choice but climb out of the car, shoulder her bag, and stand immobile on the damp sidewalk.

Jason peered out of the car through the passenger side as Zach crawled out of the backseat and into the front. "Uh, are you going to be OK?"

He and Zach were both looking at her expectantly, their eyes boring into her, and she forced her head to nod. "I am."

Her brother was far too perceptive to let that slide. "I can wait."

"No, it's OK," Mina said, waving him off, even as her breath started to pick up. It was only a short elevator ride until she had to face him. "Go. I'll call you if I need you."

"OK," he said as the doorman shut the door. "I'll have my phone on." Zach held up a palm as they pulled away. She could practically hear his unspoken message. _Remember what we talked about._

The doorman pulled the door open for her. "Ma'am." He must be new; she didn't recognize him, which meant he didn't recognize her. There was still a chance to turn tail and run, hail a cab to Jesse's apartment, curl up with her cat on his bed and stay up all night psychoanalyzing what was wrong with her, with him, with the entire world until she was brave enough to face him. Which may be never. Cowardice was so comfortable.

The image of his fingers touching hers as she drew a paintbrush down a strip of canvas fluttered into her consciousness, and she forced one foot forward. Then the other. The space between her and the door seemed to fold over, and she found herself in front of the elevator doors.

Her hands were trembling so much that it took her several attempts to get the key card through the reader successfully. The floors blinked by, and before she knew it, she was standing in the foyer, staring at the door and wondering how she could open it.

As it turned out, it only took a turn of the key.

Mina stepped through the doorway and felt her heart drop to the floor.

The walls were bare.

Everything else seemed to be untouched and neat: the white carpet, the white sofas (so dull), the polished dark wood of the end tables, the decorative vases that she hadn't picked out and was completely clueless as to their origins, since she hadn't bought them, and he wouldn't do such a thing. Serena, most likely. They were quickly forgotten as Mina pivoted in a circle, panic slowly building in her chest as she scanned the blank walls, and then she spotted the crates against the wall.

She tore the top off of one. _Anger_ was nestled inside, packed in bubblewrap.

At first, unbridled rage swept through her like a prairie fire. _How dare he._

Then came the crushing regret. Her things were packed. She was moving out of his life. She hadn't realized how much she had contributed to building this home of theirs until it was broken down and packed away.

A square piece of yellow paper stuck in the bubble wrap caught her eye. She reached in the box and peeled it off; one corner was sticky.

_This was one of my favorites, but I know it wasn't one of yours._

Mina crumpled the Post-it into a ball and turned back to survey the room. Clean, polished, like it always was, but her influence had been systematically removed and packed away in boxes. He was letting her go. She would have to get used to being alone again. Alone with her paintings and her cat, free to come and go as she pleased, free to do whatever she wanted without consideration for another person. Free like an uncaged bird.

Free and alone.

A horrible, jeering voice surfaced in her subconscious. _This is what you wanted. _

_No,_ she dumbly argued. _Not this. _

_Then what do you want?_

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt a hot teardrop hit the top of her hand.

"I want it back," she whispered, knowing that she was being dramatic, but unable to stop. The sight of the blank walls, with the anchors and hangers still poking out of the drywall, was almost accusatory in its very starkness.

Her fingers fumbled with her phone, and she dropped it to the carpet several times before hitting the right buttons. The call went straight to voicemail; his phone wasn't even turned on.

"Shit," she muttered, dropping it to the floor again. She tried a different number.

Paul, his assistant, picked up on the first ring, and she frantically ended the call before he could finish the greeting. He would be able to hear the tears in her voice, and that was a thought that she just couldn't tolerate. Not right now.

Mina started pacing nervously as she tried a third number, one that she wasn't supposed to call unless it was gravely important, but there was no answer on that line, either. This wasn't like him, to fall off the grid like this. She knew she couldn't stay in that apartment, with her paintings and possessions packed in crates, ready to be taken away from this life, away from _him._

She hobbled into her shoes and dialed a last attempt. This one picked up.

"Mina?"

"Darien!" her voice collapsed into sobs as she leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you OK? Where are you?"

She sucked in several gulps of air and tried to compose herself. "Darien, I—I…"

"Calm down, Mina," he instructed gruffly. In the background, she could hear traffic and wind.

"I need to find out where Kevin is." She hoped that Darien could make out the words in between the cracking sobs. "Please, please I need to find him."

"OK, OK," Darien said. "I just left him."

"He's at work?"

"No, he had to leave."

"Oh." She leaned her head back and allowed a few more tears to escape. "Darien, everything got fucked up and then I left, and now I think that he thinks that—"

"Hey."

"I got mad and then I made it worse, but I didn't want it to end like this, you know? I just—I just wanted to know that he didn't think of me that way, and that he didn't mean it, and then I told him to go away, and he listened because," she paused and hiccupped. "Because obviously he does whatever I tell him to, even if I don't mean it. You have to help me, please, Darien. Please."

"_Mina_."

"Yeah."

He cleared his throat. "I know where you can find him."

"You do? Oh thank god—where?"

"Before I tell you, can you promise me something?"

"Yeah, OK. Anything. What?"

In typical Darien-fashion, he waited a moment for dramatic emphasis. "Promise me that no matter what goes down, you'll allow yourself to be happy."

"What?"

"Promise me you won't start thinking that you can't make someone happy. Because you have, you know. We're all…" He stopped and thought for a second. "We're all fucked-up, beautifully flawed people, and if we're lucky, we find someone just as flawed and fucked up as we are, and they love us and we love them because when we're with them, we forget that we're flawed and fucked up and life seems a little more tolerable. The truth is, you can be flawed and happy, and happy with someone, because love makes you see the good parts in that person and the good parts in yourself, and the stupid shitty parts don't matter as much, to either of you, because you love each other that much and you don't care about the crap when you're together."

Mina was silent as she let those words sink in. Her voice was strained when she finally spoke. "Darien?"

"Huh?"

She smiled through her tears. "Sometimes I think you've got the heart of an artist."

"Bullshit," he responded gruffly, but she could hear the emotion behind his words. "Don't get too excited; I think I got that out of a chick magazine. Serena keeps them in the bathroom and I get bored when I forget my iPhone."

She laughed and played along. "Of course."

"I've got a reputation to uphold. So do you want to know where he is or not? I can send a car."

Her eyelids fell shut, concealing the newly bare room from her vision. "Tell me."


	8. Chapter 8: Victory March

**CHAPTER 8: VICTORY MARCH**

The doorman started when he caught sight of her. She could just imagine what she looked like after that hysterical crying jag: red nose, swollen lips, eyes as bloodshot as Zach's after a bong rip. He watched her stumble to the curb with a trace of concern. "Hail you a cab, ma'am?"

Jason was probably too far away already. "Um, yes, please."

Back in another car, she wrapped her jacket around her shoulders and stared straight ahead, focusing on the back of the cabbie's mesh cap. Something would come to her. It had to.

The cab pulled to the curb at her destination. "Fourteen and change."

It was then that she reached for her handbag and realized that it was back at the penthouse. "Oh no." She dug frantically in her pockets, but came up with nothing but lint and a set of keys. "Oh _no._"

"Miss?"

Mina leaned her head against the window and burst into tears.

"What's the matter? Miss?"

"I—" she sucked in a shuddering breath. "I don't have my wallet."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean I don't have my wallet. I can't pay you!" she said, wiping her face with her sleeve. Perhaps she should take this as a sign.

"Hey look, you owe me fourteen bucks, kid. You gotta pay me."

The back door of the car suddenly opened, and a middle-aged man poked his head in. "Are you getting out?"

"No," Mina sniffed. "I forgot my wallet." She turned to the driver. "Can you take me back to my building? I can run up and grab my purse and you can keep the meter running. I'm sorry."

The man nodded his head at the driver. "How much does she owe?"

"About fifteen bucks."

He pulled out some bills from his coat pocket and passed them through the divider. "This should cover it."

Mina shook her head. "You-you don't have to do that!"

The man's lips turned upwards in a kind smile, the type that reached all the way to the creases around his eyes. "Don't worry about it. Looks like you need a break."

The tears spilled down her cheeks again, wet and hot. "Oh my God, thank you!" She leaned forward and pulled him into an awkward half-hug. "Do you have a card or something? I can pay you back, I swear."

"Nah," he waved her off. "Good luck with the fellow."

"What?"

"The boyfriend, the husband, whoever it is. I hope you two can work it out."

She swallowed. "How did you know?"

He put his briefcase in the cab and slid in. "Because why else would you be in such a hurry that you ran out without your handbag?"

"Oh." This guy was unusually astute, or perhaps had traveled the same path at one point. "Thanks again. I really appreciate it."

He waved her off. "Pass it along." His phone rang, and he flipped it open. "Art Emess speaking."

The cabbie tipped his cap to her as she shut the door, and as the cab pulled away, she realized that she really should have taken up Darien on his offer to send a car. _How the hell am I going to get home?_ There were only two ways to go about it: she would have to leave with him, or go somewhere else. She was only mentally prepared to do the first.

Darien's directions had sent her to the square outside the station. Already it was crowded with travelers and passerbys jostling each other to make their trains, souvenir carts packed with knockoff merchandise, cabs lined up on one side and buses on another. A loading zone was blocked off with trucks and sawhorses, and something on the other side of the barrier was making a lot of noise. Finding Kevin in this chaos would be like finding a needle in a needlestack.

The inside of the station was equally crowded. Mina's foot was nearly run over by a harried mother toting two little boys and an enormous rolling suitcase, and was thrown a dirty look for the infraction of standing in the way. Against a far wall, a pair of policemen was interrogating a young man; he had either been robbed or robbed someone. A tour group stomped past with no member younger than sixty.

The noise and commotion was almost overwhelming. She tripped her way through the crowd towards no particular destination, turning in circles trying to catch sight of him…Darien said he was here…so where was he?

She moved with the crowd down a flight of stairs, and around a corner, the desperation beginning to catch in her throat, and then stopped.

There was a reason for the construction vehicles outside.

A wall between two flights of escalators had been cleared and anchors drilled in, a lot of anchors, to support the weight of the new painting being installed. The escalators had been closed off on one side and scaffolding put up, and a smallish indoor crane was beeping as it lifted the huge painting into place. "Hold it!" a bald man wearing an orange vest pulled a level and the crane stopped its ascent, and the other workers balancing on the scaffold brought it gently to the wall.

Mina crept closer to the work area, barely able to breathe around the lump in her throat.

Finally, the message had gotten through.

She hadn't expecting anything on this kind of scale; the best she was hoping for was to move it to another gallery, or maybe his parents' house (if they would even allow that) or donate it to a museum or…something that was less public that thousands of people seeing her work on a daily basis.

Her eyes fell away from the painting—the image was memorized in her head, no need to dwell—and towards the passing crowd. The senior group coming down the working elevators pointed towards it with mild admiration. A few people stopped to stare for a few moments, and then continued on their way. A young man on a cell phone half-listened to his conversation as he craned his neck up.

"Doesn't have a head," a worker standing near Mina observed.

"Ah, it's art," his coworker stated, dismissing Mina's life's work with a wave. "My wife just spent seven hundred bucks on some painting of a cottage with flowers. Says its some famous artist guy who's the 'Painter of Light' or something. Maybe it'll be worth something someday."

"It would be better if we could see her tits," the first worker chuckled. "Then it don't matter that she got no head."

She rolled her eyes and moved away from those two. And then stopped.

For the hundredth time that day, her breath caught in her throat.

A familiar towhead stood only a few feet away, his back to her, conversing with someone wearing a very stained overcoat. She strained to hear.

"—there was too much black in the foreground," the mystery man assessed. "They get too heavy with the Krylon and it takes away from the whole thing."

"I don't think she used Krylon for this," Kevin replied.

The other guy, who seemed to either be dressed like a bagman or was an actual bagman, turned slightly to face him. "You know the artist?"

"I do."

"Aw, ain't that the shit!" The bagman patted his pockets. "Gotta light, man?"

"I don't think you can smoke in here."

"Shit. Fucking political correctness all over the goddamn place these days. I can't burn a stogie in a public building but that fucking skinny punk with the spray cans can do the outside and nearly choke us all to death. You know that guy? Blonde punk with the tattoos and attitude? He was sprayin' all this shit near the alley and we were just about to die from the fumes, you know? I asked him if he would do it when the wind was blowing or some shit because you know, I don't mind dying but I don't want to do it for some bullshit reason like that. He told us to fuck off because it was a _mural_ he was working on. Or 'gorilla art' or some shit. I don't fucking know. I don't see no damn King Kong on it, neither. It turned out piss-ugly anyways."

She watched Kevin incline his chin towards _Victory_. "What do you think of this one?"

The bagman pulled a toothpick from his pocket and set back on his heels. "Huh. Well, for one thing, it's got people lookin' at it. That's a good thing. Everyone who gets off the elevator-escalator—whatever the fuck it is, they all look at it coming off, and then some just stand there and watch it. If it was bad, they wouldn't even bother to look."

"Good point."

"And I'm in the minority, but I like that she ain't got no head," the bagman said. "You know, that way you can think of a lady that you know and just stick her head on."

Mina felt her mouth turn up. Snooty art critics had written lengthy columns on this one, and a street person was the only person so far that had discovered her intention.

She watched him cram his hands in his coat pockets and look back down at the bagman. "What's your name, man?"

"Me? Call me Jimbo, my man."

_Jimbo the Hobo_, Mina thought, and then mentally kicked herself for it, but the bum continued his introduction and put her fears to rest.

"Jimbo the Hobo!"

From the way that his neck and back tensed up, she could tell that Kevin was unsure of how to proceed. "Uh, nice to meet you, Jimbo."

"Jimbo the Hobo," Jimbo corrected. "Gotta say the whole thing, man. Or just 'Jimbo the 'Bo'. Either works."

"Sorry." He nodded towards the door. "So, Jimbo…the Hobo. Want to get a cup of coffee?"

"Shit man, I'll get whatever you're buying."

They turned to leave the terminal, and Mina found her voice. "Kevin, wait!"

* * *

Nothing short of a nuclear explosion would have distracted her attention from the figure in front of her as he stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to face her, his face alternately flushing and drained of color. This was different; she had seen almost every emotion from him but this one. She had never seen him scared before, ever.

She tried to take a step forward, but her foot felt like lead, her body pinned under his gaze like a butterfly under glass. "Wait, please don't—"

Jimbo the Hobo interrupted their moment. "Hey, man, looks like you two got some shit to deal with…take a raincheck, my man?"

Kevin snapped out of his reverie and shook his head. "What? Oh…yeah. Sorry about that." One hand came out of his pocket and passed a wad of bills into Jimbo's gnarled hand. "Here, it's on me."

Jimbo chuckled and pocketed the cash. "Sheeyit, thanks son!" He pulled a stocking cap out of his sleeve and stretched it over his head. "Imma head down to this coffee place uptown…you know son, if shit don't work out with you and blondie, you should check out the honey that owns that place…uuungh! Got the best set of titties that I've seen in years, nice and round, gets me all sprung. And she gives me all the leftover muffins at the end of the night. I'd rather have a faceful of those titties, but eh. I'm old. I'll leave that shit to you young bucks." He clapped Kevin on the arm and tipped his stocking cap towards Mina. "Ma'am."

Now that they were alone, Mina didn't know what to say. So she didn't say anything, and raised her eyes to her painting, which was now looming over the room like a headless deity. Kevin moved next to her, and she felt his sleeve brush up against her arm. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep her focus.

After a minute of silence, he spoke first. "How does it look?"

Something hard and hot formed in her chest as she searched for words. He beat her to it, again. "It looks so different hanging above you instead of at eye level. It seems bigger, somehow."

She finally thought of something to say. "Yes."

The silence descended again like a velvet curtain, and they both wasted the seconds between emotions coughing and shuffling. Mina could tell that she was going to lose it soon; either breaking down crying in public or running away like a child. Something was going to happen along those lines.

"Can I tell you something?"

Mina cast her eyes to the ground and examined the stone pattern in the granite floor. "OK."

"I—" Kevin started, and then stopped. He fidgeted nervously and kept his voice low. "I really like this painting."

"Uh," she stammered. "I hope you do. You bought it."

"You don't understand. I really like it."

She couldn't think of anything to say. "Thank you."

"Do you want to know why?"

Mina kept her gaze to the floor. "Yes."

A moment of silence stretched into a minute. The station kept its usual hum of life going in the background. The announcements from overhead mixed with the clamor of hundreds of shoes clacking or squeaking on tile, all blurring together with shouts and murmurs and laughter and chatter. Communication from every direction, except from the two figures standing in the middle of the floor like statues.

She waited. Half of her was conditioned to run, to get out of this shitstorm and save herself the heartbreak, but the part of her that ran into that taxicab without her purse, the part that ached and knew that life without him would be infinitely worse than life with him, kept her rooted to the spot, a silent mantra running through her head. _Please help me explain this. Help me figure this out._ _Help me fix us._

She couldn't see his face when he started speaking. "I—let me start from the beginning."

"OK."

"I've never met an artist before. When we met, when you came to my room, back then, before we…I…OK, I'll be honest. Darien's done that to me before. I was going to let you humor me for a while, and then pay you out and send you on your way, but then…it was you. You were there and-God, you were—are—so beautiful. And the first thing you noticed was the painting on the wall, and you knew who did it and how, and I was interested but not convinced that you knew what you were talking about."

"Are you serious?" A flame ignited; she braced herself for the rest of the explanation of how she was a very talented stripper.

"Hold on. Just—I'm sorry. It was a snap judgment and I was wrong."

The flame settled back, but still glowed.

Without knowing how it happened, he had moved closer to her. "After you left, I-" A sound like a laugh escaped, laden with nerves. "I googled you. Well, sort of. Zach talked me into it. I googled the gallery where you said you had your painting hanging, and it wasn't bad. I didn't get it. But it looked, you know, decent enough.

So I went down there, and I saw it. And um." His voice cut off with nerves again, and Mina wanted to scream. They had shared space, shared a home, shared their bodies, so why could neither of them share their thoughts?

He shook his head. "It was amazing."

She hadn't believed that she had any tears left, but one still managed to slip out and splatter the buffed floor.

"I just didn't believe you could do it-well not _you_, per se, but…anyone. I couldn't believe that a human being could pick up a brush and take an idea from their head and put it down like that.

And then I reallymet you, and you were so…bright. And funny, and friendly, and you have this energy about everything and everyone. It's irresistible. People fall in love with you, Mina. _I_ fell in love with you."

Finally, she could pick her head up and look him in the eye, blue to gray, and felt another brick drop off of her wall when she saw the desperate vulnerability there. He had never opened up like this to her before, and probably not to anyone else, either.

"Look, I don't understand the circles you run in, I know it. I like this painting because you made it, and you loved doing it, and it's part of you. I can feel that when I look at it. I can feel you. And now whenever I want to, I can walk in here and look at it and I can be reminded of you. And…OK this is out there, and I'm probably not making sense any more, but a lot of things remind me of you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gray object: the rock he had found on the street in Beijing. "Like this thing. Sometimes I think I can see what you can in stuff like this. I don't think I can do it all of the time, because that's just not the way I can be, but sometimes-sometimes I think I can do it."

Her hand shook as she reached out and took the stone from his hand, turning it over in her fingers. She probably could polish it until it felt as smooth as a river stone. Kevin reached over and closed her hand around it.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you the way I did. It was uncalled for and there is no excusing it. For that alone, I can understand if you never talk to me again."

Mina clenched the rock in her hand so tightly it hurt. "Why did you—"

"Christ, don't ask me that. I don't have a better explanation other than I'm an asshole." He swallowed. "And…you mentioned Casey. You never talk about him, or what he did to you, but—look, I was scared that something was still there. He probably knows you better than I do, and probably better than I ever will. You run in the same world as him. It might be comfortable to go back to that, regardless of what he did."

This time, she couldn't stop the harsh laugh that escaped. "Really? You _really_ think I could go back to…that? Kevin, you can't be serious."

He drew up straighter, pulling his coat tight around him.

Her face fell. "Oh my God, you are serious." The irony of it was just astounding; all of her fears about feeling disposable were mirrored back at her. "Are you—what- you're insane."

It looked like he wanted to say something, but she wasn't going to let him have that chance. "I have no idea why you feel threatened by Casey, because there is no way ever that I am going back to that, or him, or anything even remotely like that." Her chin started to quiver. "How could I? I-you are so different than him; actually from any guy that I've ever been with."

"Different how?"

"I could trust you."

An almost imperceptible shudder ran down his arm, and she knew that that had hurt him, but she couldn't stop herself. It felt too good to get it out, finally. "That's why—that's why it hurt so much. I trusted you." Her nose started running, so she swiped it on her sleeve. "You didn't have to—to give me anything. I never wanted your charity."

"It wasn't that," he whispered, as a muscle his neck pulsed. "Mina—"

The hurt seemed to lessen with every word, even if it resolved nothing. "I know that's what you think. But to me it felt like…it felt like control. I would have stopped you if I knew what you were doing." She tried to swallow the baseball in her throat and continued. "It was hard enough for me to live in your house, and have you pay all my bills and…" She let out her breath. "If you ever decided that you…that you didn't need me anymore—"

Next to her, she saw him ball up his fists in his pockets. "No, listen. If you decided that I'm not up to your caliber, or you found someone who you didn't need to bankroll, I would end up the same way as when I left Casey." She looked up at him, and finally, their eyes met. "I would be alone, broke, and heartbroken. But it would be worse, because you had never hurt me like that."

"But then I did."

"Yeah," she said. "You did."

Slowly, he pulled a fist out of his pocket and reached out to take her hand. His was as warm as she remembered. "The biggest regret of my life is that I hurt you that way."

The tears were incredibly hot against her eyes. "Why did this happen?"

"Because it had to." He let his eyes fall shut for a moment before opening them again, dark and dynamic as storm clouds. "If it hadn't, we never would have gotten this out. We were heading for a crash."

Her other hand found his other one. "I don't want to crash."

"What do you want?"

There was only one thing. "I want to be your equal."

He blinked. "You are."

It felt like a hand had grabbed her in between the lungs and squeezed, pressing her breath away and twisting her heart in her ribcage like a windup toy. "I haven't felt that way."

"So we'll change it."

"How?" she gulped, her head lowering back to the ground. "I mean, I can't give you anything-"

"Please stop doing that," he cut her off. "I could never do anything like that." He nodded up at her painting. "But what I can do is take care of the other things so that you can keep making these works, because it's what you love and it's what makes you happy. And I want to see you like that."

"But why would you do that?" There was still a part of her that refused to believe that; some desperate, black part that was still comforted by the familiar misery.

Color rapidly flushed his face. "Because I love you, all right? That's the only reason why I do anything. Because I love you and I want to see you happy."

Strange how funny the world looked when you looked through tears, Mina thought. Everything was soft and hot; she could do it in misty watercolor. It was too much to keep looking in his eyes, so she focused on the bottom of his chin instead. "This is as much my fault as it is…I mean, if I told you this a year ago, we wouldn't have fought like this…"

"Yes we would. Because if it weren't the money, it would have been the brainless trophy wives I make you associate yourself with at cocktail parties, or the kimono I bought you in Japan, or the goddamn cat's flea pills. I get it now. How it must have made you feel, even though... even though none of it matters. If you don't get that, Mina, if you don't get that none of it matters more than you do, then I'm an idiot for not telling you every day how important you are to me. I should never have let you think for a second that you were anything less than amazing.

You make me..." He faltered, and clasped his hand around hers, holding it up to show the rock still nestled in her palm. "You make me see beauty, Mina. In a street in Beijing. I could have gone my whole life seeing nothing but rocks, but now, sometimes, I see something unique and worthwhile and…and meaningful. You take things that are lifeless, colorless, and you make them glow."

Mina could barely see through the hot mass of tears falling down her face.

"And I know I fucked up. I'm sorry. I can't take away what I did, but I can promise you that I didn't mean it, and I will never hurt you like that again." He stopped and took a breath. "I'm talking too much. I never talk this much, I'm sorry. I just don't know what to say." He dropped her hands and cupped her face, tracing her cheekbone with one thumb, and pressed his lips gently against hers.

She couldn't think; she couldn't feel. A roaring silence filled her ears and blocked out the sounds of everything but her own heart hammering in her chest.

When she pulled back, everything seemed to be in color.

Without looking, she took his hand into hers and squeezed. "Take me home."

* * *

A dozen new storybook sketches (and about twenty rejects) littered the dining table as Mina pressed her finger and blended some shades on the thirteenth. The style had changed drastically; she had decided not to recreate the doll-like features on the human figures, and to give them more details of movement. Snowflakes always surrounded one of the princesses, for some reason; another floated through a cloud of blossoms, and another, leaves. She needed to churn out at least another dozen to get through the rest of the story, and it might have been possible to get it done before sunrise if she didn't keep getting…interrupted.

However, they were all welcome interruptions.

She had picked her head up after the first, furious coupling on the floor of the foyer and looked around, trying to catch her breath. "You took down my paintings."

Kevin planted his hands on either side of her head and lifted himself up. "I'll put them back."

She rocked into a sitting position, trying not to wince at the crackling nerves in between her legs. "You'd better," she teased, pulling him over by his tie and into a kiss. He kissed back, a little too hard, his hand bunched in her hair as their lips tangled together. Despite the fact that they had spent the last twenty minutes writhing, partially clothed, on the floor in front of the doorway, flushed and panting as they fucked each other into a frenzy, the kiss heated and spread until he was sucking on her neck, and she was fumbling with the damned knot of his tie to get it off.

After that last round, she was surprised she could walk a straight line.

Mina fumbled for the remote that turned the light up and clicked it. It was getting dark and her stomach was rumbling. A movement in the corner of the hall caught her eye. She slid off her chair and ventured over.

Kevin squinted behind his glasses as he straightened the third painting. Mina tapped her pencil against her lips; she had agreed to let him hang any painting anywhere he wanted, and now it seemed that she might regret that decision. "That last one is part of a different series."

"I know," he said. He took his glasses off and rubbed them against his boxer shorts to get them clean. "I like how the blues match up."

She gave him a look. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

Her eyes widened and she used her pencil to point at the painting in the middle. "Kevin, that one's purple."

"No, it's not; it's blue."

"No, it's really purple. Believe me, I painted it." She poked him in the side, and was immediately swept up in his arms, her back pressed up against him. He planted a kiss on the crown of her head.

"I like it here."

Mina turned her head and let her cheek rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. "You're colorblind."

"I am not."

She grinned and snaked her hand around to grab a handful of his ass. "How about you let me be the judge of that?"

His eyes were shining as he twisted and bent her body until she was thrown over his shoulder. "OW! My hip!"

He shifted her around and kept walking. "Where are you taking me?" She giggled, her hair obscuring the view.

"I'm going to prove that it's not purple." They passed through a doorway, and the light flicked on.

Mina knew the room solely by the smell. She inhaled; her parents' house had a familiar, heavier scent to it, like dryer sheets and baking food, but the smell of turpentine and linseed oil was the most comforting of all. Her world flipped around as Kevin placed her on her feet.

"Here," he said, picking up a tube of paint. "I remembered you using this one. Ultramarine blue."

"Mm," she responded, crossing her arms in front of her breasts. "I mixed it with magenta."

He brought the tube closer to his face and squinted at it. "That's right. You can mix them."

The way his face was stuck in wonderment made her giggle, and the space between the two closed as she sidled up and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Sometimes you get the best results when you mix colors."

He bent his head and pressed his forehead to hers. A tingle started in her throat, and spread down her throat, and then across her breasts and stomach, before settling in her lower extremities, fluttering away like a dragonfly. Mina could feel herself swaying slightly as she brushed her lips against the side of his jaw. "Do you want to know more?" she whispered, her voice rasping with desire.

"Yes." His fingers played through her hair, brushing it over her shoulder to expose her neck. She felt his breath against her ear before moving downwards, tickling the sensitive skin on the side of her face. Her heart pumped in time with the gentle pressure on her throat as he trailed kisses to her collarbone.

It took a moment for Mina to find her voice. "The magenta is a warm color." He kissed her chin, and then her mouth. Her lips parted under his, and then wider as the kiss deepened. "And the blue is cool. But when you mix them..."

His hand pulled at her panties and began dragging them down. "OK."

She gasped as his finger slid between her legs and into the wet warmth. Her body tensed against his as another sensation hit, deep in her core, and spread over her skin like slow fire. "It...makes it..." She tried to swallow against the rise of tension as he pushed deeper, slowly rotating his hand against her clit. It felt like a tidal wave. "Please."

"Please what?"

Her nails dug into his arm as she squeezed her eyes shut. It was hard to breathe, to think. "Please keep going."

He pulled back to look in her eyes. "I won't stop." His mouth closed on hers for another deep kiss. "Never."

At those words, her hands reached up to drag her fingers through his hair, her teeth clenched. She wanted to scream, or cry, or some other burst of irrational emotion that would match the waves of pleasure wracking her body. There was no way this should feel this good, or this natural.

"I-" she gasped in between moans. "I love you."

Kevin pulled his head back again. Mina pressed against him, never breaking eye contact. "Do you?" he whispered against her face.

"Yes."

"I love you." He brought her hand up and kissed the palm. "Always."

For the first time in years, Mina felt complete. She didn't have to analyze this feeling, because there was nothing ambiguous about it. It was complex and simple, fierce and slow, intense and comforting. It was love. The kind that wouldn't leave, or take until there was nothing left for her to give. This love would stay with her when she wasn't sure of anything, even herself. It wouldn't diminish if she gave it back; rather, it would grow and change and bring her the kind of peace that she had been searching for; that she had created when she brought a brush to canvas, the kind that was inside her that she wanted to share with the world. She let her head fall back as she allowed herself receive the kind of love that she deserved, and it was all because of one word.

_Always._

It didn't take her long to pull off his clothes, considering that he was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts and eyeglasses. She started giggling as the fingers of his free hand got tangled in the straps of her tank top as he pulled it over her head.

The sensations stopped as he pulled his hand free and picked her up to carry her to the old, broken couch against the wall. "I couldn't come in here when you were gone," he said, lowering her down. "There's too much of you in here. It hurt too much."

To Mina's ears, it still sounded strange to hear him admit that. "Shh," she hushed him, pulling his head down for another kiss. They were moving faster now, deeper, and suddenly his mouth was moving down to suck her breast.

"Ah." Her hand curled around the upholstery as she arched her back. His tongue traced circles around her nipple; she felt more wetness spread between her clenched thighs. "Oh God. Kevin." A twinge of pleasure and pain as he gently nipped her. "God. _Yes." _Her nails raked down his back, leaving red scratch marks behind, but she was too far gone to care. With a careful shrug, she freed her arm and reached down. Kevin groaned softly as she wrapped her palm around the head of his cock and gently squeezed. "Baby, you need to-"

His lips were pressed together as if in pain. "Yeah?"

She rotated her hand around his length. "Make me scream."

A flash of gray eyes swam in her vision before she was pressed into the couch. She felt his hands reach between her thighs and parted them, leaving her open and wet. Another nudge and he moved down between her.

She moaned louder. "Do it."

He pushed forward with another soft groan, filling her completely, making her stretch, making her toes curl and her breath hitch. She pressed her face to his neck, sucking and biting at the skin there, marking him up. She couldn't help it.

"Mina," he sighed, moving them together.

She gasped as his cock slid against her clit, slick with her wetness. "Oh."

"I'm sorry."

Mina pulled her head back to look at him, never stopping the motion of her hips. Her eyes flashed. "Shut up and fuck me."

With those words, he picked up the pace, rocking faster until their bodies were covered in a light sheen of sweat. Mina pulled her leg up as far she could, looping it around the middle of his back. She couldn't catch her breath. "Oh shit oh my god oh please—"

"Please," his sentence was cut off midway by a groan. "What."

"Fuck me harder." He obliged, and the sparks that were ignited under her skin were bringing her closer to the edge.

Mina was not quiet. If she could hear herself, she would hear frantic panting before a string of moans, and then silence as her body locked up and then relaxed, over and over as she rode it out, and a quiet sigh as she fell limp.

Kevin followed a few moments later, palming her face with one hand and pressing his forehead against hers. There was a strangled cry, and then stared into each other's eyes as they struggled to catch their breath.

* * *

Dawn was breaking.

The city was waking up. Mina glanced over the top of her sketch pad as she finished another draft. She and Kevin were reclining together on a padded lounge chair on the balcony, swaddled in the down comforter that he had dragged outside with them. She pressed her head against his chest and chewed the end of her pencil, thinking about the people she loved, and what they might be doing at that moment. Makoto would be turning the key to open her beloved shop, while her husband and child slumbered at home. Raye and Jason were probably curled together in bed as the light started filtering through the red curtains of their bedroom, relishing the last few minutes of quiet sleep before Raye's alarm went off. Zach was most likely in her old room, or sleeping it off on their couch. Darien might be awake; he liked an early start, but Serena would definitely be fast asleep and buried in her bed like a butterfly in a cocoon.

None of them were aware yet that she and Kevin were all right. They would know, soon enough.

Car engines and sirens were starting up again as the sky turned from gray to lavender, and then to a light blue. Behind her, Kevin stirred as he slowly woke up. She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his chin. "Good morning."

He reached out and fumbled for his glasses on the side table before realizing that they were on his face. "Mmm. You finished?"

"Almost." Indeed, she was. There was only one more picture to complete before she could present it to Serena.

"How does it end?"

Underneath the comforter, Mina pressed her bare feet against his shins. "It's a fairy tale. How do you think it ends?"

He gave her a long look from behind his glasses. "Happily ever after?"

"Really?"

"Sure." Kevin shifted around. "All of Serena's books have been about bunnies and fairies and shit."

"It's not shit," she chastised him, and flipped her sketchpad to the beginning. "Here's how it starts: there once was a princess who lived on the moon."

Kevin yawned. "The moon? How did she breathe?"

"What do you mean, 'how did she breathe'?"

"There's no atmosphere on the moon; it's just a dead hunk of rock."

"No it's not—and this is a story! Don't be so pedantic."

"I'm not," he insisted. "So is this before or after Neil Armstrong gets there?"

Mina rolled her eyes at the realization that he was teasing her. "Oh shut up. Anyway, there was a princess who lived on the moon." She held out the pad so he could see that he used his sister as a model for the princess, but had given her a very unusual hairstyle. "And then one night she was out in her garden and she looked down to Earth, and saw a prince sleeping. He was so handsome that she fell in love with him."

Kevin reached across her and angled the pad to get a better look. "That's Darien."

"Well yeah," Mina said. "If Serena is the Princess, then Darien has to be the Prince."

"Of course," he agreed. "Keep going."

She cleared her throat. "The Princess was madly in love with the Prince, but she couldn't speak to him. So she told her friends, who were her guardians, and they agreed to use their magic to help her.

But!" She flipped the page. "Little did she know that the Prince had glanced up at the moon and saw _her_, and thought that she was so beautiful that he fell in love with her_. _They're both kind of superficial that way. Anyway, he told his friends, who were also his guardians—I like the hair on that one, don't you? —and they agreed to use their magic to help their Prince send a message to his beloved."

"Morse code."

"What?"

"Morse code. They should have tried a bright light and a big reflective surface. Easier than magic."

"My god, you are square." She elbowed him playfully in the side. "Anyway, the Princess's guardians and the Prince's guardians tried to use their magic to bring the two together, but they didn't have enough power. The Princess's guardians turned into precious jewels, and the Prince's guardians turned into trees."

Kevin huffed. "Well that sucks."

"It totally does! Look." She flipped the pad again. "A ruby, an emerald, a sapphire, and a golden pearl was all the Princess had left of her friends, and the Prince now had an oak, a pine, a cherry, and an apple tree where his guardians once stood.

The Princess tried to change them back, but she could not. Heartbroken, she made a golden crown out and set the jewels in it. On Earth, the Prince picked leaves from the trees and wove them into a crown of his own.

When the Princess woke up the next day, her crown was gone, and in its place was a crown of leaves. She put the crown on her head, and suddenly, she could hear the voices of the Prince's guardians, and they told her that she had to go to Earth and find the Prince, and be with him. She begged them to tell her how to find her friends again, and they said that the answer lay with the Prince.

Meanwhile, on Earth, the Prince woke and found a golden crown with four stones set it in. He put the crown on, and like the Princess, could hear her guardians speak to him. They told him danger was coming, and that he had to stay strong and wait for the Princess to rescue him from a hideous fate."

Kevin's pale eyebrows jumped over his frames. "So the Princess has to rescue the Prince? That changes it up a bit."

Mina smiled at her creation. "It's a different kind of fairy tale. This Prince always needs rescuing."

"Perhaps he needs better friends to keep him out of trouble."

"It's not their fault; he's the Prince! He can tell them to do whatever and they have to do it because he's their boss."

He snorted. "I'd kill the little shit."

"You would not; you'd listen. Anyway, the Princess used the magic that the crown of leaves gave her and went to the Earth. There she encountered many dangers…there no text here, just pictures."

Kevin squinted down at the page. "You didn't."

"What?" she replied innocently.

He blew out a breath and pointed towards one of the princesses. "That looks like my mother."

"Oh, no it's you as a woman."

His eyes flew all the way open. "You drew me as a woman?" He grabbed the sketchpad and pushed it closer to his face. "OK, you drew your brother as a woman, too."

"No, that's my mother when she was young. Anyway, here's all the pretty parts, and then we have the Prince meeting a witch who promised to bring his guardians back. The spirits in the crown of jewels told him not to, but he didn't listen. The witch bound their agreement by magic, and then burned down the trees."

"Doesn't that negate the contract?" he asked, ever the businessman.

"Baby, she's an evil witch. They don't play by the rules. So the Princess makes her way to the Earth and disguises herself as a serving maid in the kitchens. That same night she saw the witch burn down the trees, and she hears the Prince's men tell her with their dying breathe that they way to rescue the Prince was to have the witch wear the crown of jewels. She was heartbroken that she had lost her companions, and so she buried the crown of leaves in the ashes of the trees.

The next morning, the Princess serves him breakfast and reveals who she is. He declares her love for her and promises to marry her.

The witch discovered that the serving girl was actually a princess, and dragged her outside to hang her."

"_Hang _her? Are you sure that Serena wrote this?"

"Positive. The witch brought her to the four trees, which had miraculously grown overnight. She was hanging the rope from the oak tree when the Prince rushed out to save the Princess.

The spirits of the girls in the crown told him to give the crown to the witch and agree to marry her. The Prince didn't want to, but the girls insisted, even though it meant their lives would be forfeit.

He handed the crown over to the witch, who cackled with delight and placed the crown on her head. At that moment, dark clouds gathered and the spirits of the girls in the jewels used the last of their powers to call down lightening. It struck the witch and killed her instantly, and the jewels turned into coal. The Prince and Princess were free to marry, but they were heartbroken to lose their friends. The Prince buried the lumps of coal under the trees, and the morning after their wedding they woke to find golden pearls in the branches of the oak tree where acorns usually grew, emeralds in the pine tree in place of cones, sapphires among the pink blossoms of the cherry tree, and rubies in the middle of apples cut from the apple tree. They married and lived for many years, but always with sadness in their hearts from losing their friends."

Kevin looked like he had swallowed a porcupine. "That can't be the end."


	9. Chapter 9: Epilogue

It was nice to see Paris again, like an old friend that had waited for her. Her old friend had been a harsh host last time, but she had been younger, and traveling with very lean wallet. This time, the old friend didn't make her sleep on the floor, or feed her on nothing but marvelous crusty baguettes and cheap wine, and stole her clothes and art supplies when she slept. The art and energy of the city had made her believe that she didn't mind being pickpocketed on the Metro, and that sleeping in hostels with her friend snoring on one side and her brother passed out drunk on the other was the height of adventure.

She nearly passed out when they stopped in front of the hotel. "This is the Meurice!" she squeaked.

Kevin was cranky with fresh jet lag. "Yeah."

"Dali stayed here! He practically lived here!"

"That's why I picked it," he said, yawning. "I don't usually stay here, my keys always go missing in all the…crap in the rooms."

Only Kevin would describe Louis XIV style furnishings, complete with chandeliers and candelabras and bunches of roses in vases as "crap".

This time, she had a real hotel room to sleep in, one with roses and wine and ivory-colored silk sheets that they tore and stained, and a panoramic view of the Eiffel Tower that she focused on when he fucked her from behind as she stood at the window. She had gotten well acquainted with the room; they didn't leave it for the first two days as they burned off jet lag by taking shifts of eating, sleeping, and fucking in between silk sheets.

She finally persuaded him to venture outside on the third day after dosing him with enough caffeine to keep a platoon of grad students on a permanent buzz.

By the forth exhibit, he was getting antsy. She ignored it.

"Come here," she said, pulling him over by his elbow. A grin had been affixed to her face the moment they entered the glass pyramid. "My favorite."

Kevin squinted through his glasses lenses at the statue rising above him. "She's bigger than I thought she would be."

"A lot of people say that. Did you know that she was originally holding an apple?"

"I do now." He glanced around restlessly, showcasing classic symptoms of "museum fatigue". She should really give him a break, Mina thought, especially since she had kept him up so late the previous night.

She focused her attention back on the _Venus de Milo_. "The guy took it from her because she offered him the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. Isn't that utterly romantic?"

"Yeah, until they started a war."

"Oh stop, it's cute." Her eyes stopped on the curve of the statue's hips. "I wonder who she was modeled after."

"Huh?"

"Most of the depictions of Venus were modeled after a real person." She peered up into the statue's blank eyes and tried to envision the person that she once might have been. "Since, well, Greek goddesses aren't real, and it's an easy way of protecting a lady's privacy. That's why even in the Renaissance, when they didn't believe in the Olympians any more, you still see pictures of her. The artist or benefactor could use whomever he desired, especially if it was someone who was uh, off-limits, and Venus would keep his secret."

Kevin was digging through her handbag. "Did you throw my passport in here?"

"Oh my God, can you even feign interest?"

His head popped up. "I'll feign it better if I can get some coffee in me."

She felt herself smiling despite herself. "Fine, go. I'll wait for you here."

He kissed the corner of her mouth and waded through the Japanese tour group that had parked in front of _Venus_. Mina crossed the room to get to a better vantage point and reached for her bag. "Oh damn."

Thirty seconds later, Kevin reentered the room, her oversized handbag in tow. "Sorry," he said, handed the bag over, and dove back through the throng of Crocs and video cameras.

Her hair got in the way as she bent to rummage through her gigantic bag, pulling out items as she searched for her pencils. It was an unwise choice to stuff so much in a single bag, and her left shoulder had been aching until Kevin graciously offered to carry it for her. At the two hour mark, he had started grumbling about how it felt like it was packed with bricks.

Perhaps Kevin and Paris weren't a good mix. He had seemed on edge from the moment the plane landed.

She shrugged it off and made a mental note to talk to him about it later.

The pencils were jammed on the bottom along with a black lacy bra that had been torn off by the overenthusiastic seamstresses that morning that Mina couldn't yet bring herself to throw away. She had worn it that first night, back when she struggling with making ends meet and healing a crushed heart by slapping paint on canvas. It was a time she didn't want to think about, but something inside made her keep a reminder.

She found the sketchpad and repositioned across the room from the statue, squeezing in between a German couple arguing over a guidebook and a Filipino girl with a Canadian flag patch sewn on her messenger bag. There was something caught in the middle, so she opened to that page to remove the offending object and start her sketch.

She dropped her bag when the page flipped. Her hand flew to her mouth as her brain tried to process what was happening, wondering if it was a joke, but it couldn't be, because that would just be insane-

Taped to the top of the page was a ring, hewn in unpolished yellow gold, with a diamond the color of morning sunshine sparkling in the middle. The rest of the white space was occupied by a charcoal sketch of a stick figure with a pacman-shaped head, an artist of whose work she was very familiar. A speech bubble was flying out of its mouth. "_Will you marry me?" _

Bright, hot tears filled her eyes as she read the postscript. "_Don't worry, it's a fair-trade from Canada and recycled gold. I know better." _

The German girl had reached down to pick up pencils and cosmetics that were rolling across the floor from the spilled bag, and she caught a glance of the sketch in Mina's hands. "Here, you dropped-_Ach mein Gott!" _

Her outburst caught the attention of the Canadian girl, who leaned over and then squealed. "Holy-girl, you just got proposed to! Robin! Rishi! Get over here! This girl just got _proposed to!"_

Mina could barely register this, or the rush of Japanese tourists and an irritated docent who scurried over at the commotion. All she could feel was the heat rushing to her head and the feeling like she wanted to faint, or scream, or explode in a burst of light, but instead she peeled the ring away from the page and cupped it in her hand, a tiny object that held a lifetime of promise.

She lifted her head as a tear ran down her face, and there he was, surrounding by gawking tourists and looking rather unsettled at the attention. "I didn't think there would be this many people around," he muttered, reddening and trying to ignore the middle-aged Japanese man holding a video camera up to his face. "I was going to try something like the Eiffel Tower, but it seemed more appropriate here...with her." He nodded up at the _Venus de Milo_. "You said people would commission an artwork of a lady they loved, and call it Venus to protect her identity... well, you're mine. And you're real. If I could do what you could, you'd...um, you'd be my Venus." His lips lifted in a small smile while his face burned like a stoplight. "I love you. I don't know how to talk about it most of the time, but I do. I always will."

The German girl started crying and elbowing her boyfriend in the ribs. The Japanese tour guide must have translated what Kevin said, because the women started sighing and more video cameras flipped open to capture the moment.

Mina finally found her voice. "When-when did you do this?"

"In the bathroom."

"You gave me a bathroom picture?"

"Mina for the love of-! Would you just give me an answer before I throw up?"

The grin burst from her face like a ray of light. She flipped the page on her sketchpad, dashed out a few lines, and turned it around for him to see.

An identical stick figure with a bow on her pacman head said "_Yes"._


End file.
